Sufficient time elapsed to enable poppa to put on his clothes and come down by the elevator, and then I heard:
"Mr. Wick is now speaking."
"Yes, poppa," I replied, "I guess you are. Your old American accent comes singing across in a way that no member of your family would ever mistake. But you needn't be stiff about it. Sorry to disturb you."
Poppa and I were often personal in our intercourse. I had not the slightest hesitation in mentioning his American accent.
"Hello, Mamie! Don't mention it. What's up? House on fire? Water pipes burst? Strike in the kitchen? Sound the alarm—send for the plumber—raise Gladys's wages and sack Marguerite."
"My engagement to Mr. Page is broken. Do you get me? What do you suggest?"
I heard a whistle, which I cannot express in italics, and then, confidentially:
"You don't say so! Bad break?"
"Very," I responded firmly.
"Any details of the disaster available? What?"