"As if I couldn't guess that!" Dawson grunted. "And so?"
"And so when I came out of the restaurant it was snowing," the English youth said. "And—"
"Snowing, in January?" Dawson mock-gasped and widened his eyes. "Well, what do you know about that? So you just stood there and watched it snowing in January, of all times, while I cooled my heels here waiting for you!"
"Do you want to listen, or would you rather give that tongue of yours exercise?" Freddy Farmer bit off.
"Okay, okay, but make it good!" Dawson sighed. "I've got two tickets for the Ranger-Chicago Hawks hockey game tonight. Make your story good, or somebody else goes with me!"
"What?" Freddy cried. "You've got—Good grief! Now we've got four!"
"Four what?" Dawson demanded. "Or am I supposed to guess?"
"Four tickets to the hockey game," Freddy Farmer said, and produced two from his own pocket. "I couldn't remember who was to get the tickets. So after I came out of the restaurant, I walked up to Madison Square Garden and got two tickets just to be sure. And—What's the matter, Dave? You suddenly sick, or something?"
The last was because Dawson had made a face, groaned, and clapped one hand to his forehead. With the other he reached out and grabbed Freddy's hand that held the hockey-game tickets, and jerked it up until the tickets were about an inch from the end of the English youth's nose.
"Boy, are you something!" he groaned. "Take a look, Bright Eyes! Take a good look! You went to the wrong window. Those tickets are for the Ranger-Boston Bruin game next Wednesday!"