“Ah, Vincent!” says he.
“Hello, Rodney!” says Vincent as they passes each other in the front office, one goin’ out and the other comin’ in.
I’d never happened to see ’em meet before, and I’m some surprised that they’re so well acquainted. Don’t know why, either, unless it is that they’re so different. Rodney, you know, is one of these light complected heavyweights, and a swell because he was born so. I was wonderin’ if Rodney was one of Vincent’s lawyers, or if they just belonged to the same clubs; when Mr. Kipp swings on his heel and says:
“Oh, by the way, Vincent, how is grammy?”
“Why!” says Vincent, “isn’t she out with you and Nellie?”
“No,” says Rodney, “she stayed with us only for a couple of days. Nellie said she hadn’t heard from her for nearly two months, and told me to ask you about her. So long. I’m due for some medicine ball work,” and with that he drifts into the gym. and shuts the door.
Vincent, he stands lookin’ after him with a kind of worried look on his face that was comical to see on such a cocksure chap as him.
“Lost somebody, have you?” says I.
“Why—er—I don’t know,” says Vincent, runnin’ his fingers through the bristles that waves above his noble brow. “It’s grandmother. I can’t imagine where she can be.”
“You must have grandmothers to burn,” says I, “if they’re so plenty with you that you can mislay one now and then without missin’ her.”