“He’s a very distinguished man,” she says. “He’s the founder of Toodleism. He’s written a book about it.”
“I thought he looked like a nutty one,” says I. “Keep him away from me; I’ll be all right by mornin’.”
The argument might have lasted longer; but just then comes the dinner call, and they all goes in where the little necks was waitin’ on the cracked ice, and I’m left alone to count the jumps and enjoy myself. Durin’ one of the calm spells I wanders into the lib’ry, picks a funny paper off the table, and settles down in a cozy corner to read the jokes. I must have been there near an hour, when in drifts the loppy young lady in the pink what-d’ye-call-it,—the one I’d made the silent hit with in the gym.,—and she makes straight for me.
“Oh, here you are!” says she, like we was old friends. “Do you know, I’ve just heard of your—your trouble.”
“Ah, it ain’t any killin’ matter,” says I. “It don’t amount to much.”
“Of course it doesn’t!” says she. “And that is what I came to talk to you about. I am Miss Lee,—Violet Lee.”
“Ye-e-es?” says I.
“You see,” she goes on, “I am Dr. Toodle’s secretary and assistant.”
“Oh!” says I. “He’s in luck, then.”
“Now, now!” says she, just like that, givin’ me a real giddy tap with her fan. “You must be real serious.”