I had an idea she might blow up, at that. But say, there was nothin' of the kind.
"Why," says she, "I'm not sure but that would be quite a novelty. Yes, you may count on me. Good day," and she was gone without so much as a "thank you kindly."
When I came to, and had sized the thing all up, it looked like I'd got in over my head. I was due to stand for some kind of a racket, but whether it was a picnic, or a surprise party, I didn't know. What I wanted just then was information, and for certain kinds of knowledge there's nobody like Pinckney.
I was dead lucky to locate him, too; but I took a chance on his bein' in town, so I found him at his special corner table in the palm room, just lookin' a dry Martini in the face.
"Hello, Shorty!" says he. "Haven't lunched yet, have you? Join me."
"I will," says I, "if you'll answer me two questions. First off, what is it that Mr. Ogden owns that he calls The Toreador?"
"Why," says Pinckney, "that's his steam yacht."
"Steam yacht!" says I, gettin' a good grip on the chair, to keep from falling out. "And me dead sure it was a bunch of six-room-and-baths! Oh, well, let that pass. What's done is done. Now what's this evolution stunt they're pullin' off up at Newport next week?"
"The naval evolutions, of course," says Pinckney. "You should read the newspapers, Shorty."
"I do," says I, "but I didn't see a word about it on the sportin' page."