"Amusement? You don't know how to amuse yourself. You don't know how to be happy. Here you sit, day after day, swallowing Martinis—" He paused to finish his own, then resumed: "Here you sit, day after day, intellectually stultified, unemotionally ignorant of the higher and better life—"
"No, I don't. I've a book upstairs that tells all about that. I read it when I have holdovers—"
"Kerns, I wish to speak seriously. I've had it on my mind ever since I married. May I speak frankly?"
"Well, when I come back from Boston—"
"Because I know a girl," interrupted Gatewood—"wait a moment, Tommy!"—as Kerns rose and sauntered toward the door—"you've plenty of time to catch your train and be civil, too! I mean to tell you about that girl, if you'll listen."
Kerns halted and turned upon his friend a pair of eyes, unwinking in their placid intelligence.
"I was going to say that I know a girl," continued Gatewood, "who is just the sort of a girl you—"
"No, she isn't!" said Kerns, wheeling to resume his progress toward the cloakroom.
"Tom!"
Kerns halted.