“Yeah. Home. Home sweet home. Christ.”
“Well, just try to take it a little—What are ya—drunk, or what?”
“I don’t know. How the hell do I know?”
“All right, now, listen. Relax. Just relax,” the grayhaired man said. “You know the Ellenbogens, for Chrissake. What probably happened, they probably missed their last train. All three of ‘em’ll probably barge in on you any minute, full of witty, night-club—”
“They drove in.”
“How do you know?”
“Their baby-sitter. We’ve had some scintillating goddam conversations. We’re close as hell. We’re like two goddam peas in a pod.”
“All right. All right. So what? Will ya sit tight and relax, now?” said the gray-haired man. “All three of ‘em’ll probably waltz in on you any minute. Take my word. You know Leona. I don’t know what the hell it is—they all get this god-awful Connecticut gaiety when they get in to New York. You know that.”
“Yeah. I know. I know. I don’t know, though.”
“Certainly you do. Use your imagination. The two of ‘em probably dragged Joanie bodily—”