"I'm afraid they've rather overdone the explaining business," says he on the way up; and while I had my own idea as to that, I had sense enough, for once, not to butt in.
That was an ice house call, all right. They left us on the mat while our cards went up, and after a while the hired girl comes down to give us the book-agent glare.
"Th' Missus," says she, "says as how the young lady begs to be 'xcused."
"Does the young lady know we're here?" says the Boss.
"She does," says the girl, and shuts the door.
"Gee!" says I, "that's below the belt."
The Boss hadn't a word left in him, but I wouldn't have met him in the ring about then for anything less'n a bookie's bundle.
Just as we hit the sidewalk we hears a front window go up, and down comes a red rose plunk in front of us.
"Many happy returns of the day," says I, handing it to the Boss.
"I suppose you're right," says he. "It's the only way to look at it, I expect; and yet—oh, hang it all, Shorty, what's the use?"