"Oh, the deuce!" says Pyramid. "Here, Shorty, you try your luck with him."
"Sure," says I. "I've talked sense through thicker things than a wooden pail." First I raps on his cupola with me knuckles, just to ring him up. Then, when I gets his eye, I says, kind of coaxin': "Pete, it's seventeen after six. That's twenty-three for you. Are you next?"
Now say, you'd thought most anyone would have dropped for a hint like that, dippy or not. But Sir Peter sizes me up without battin' an eye. He had a kind of dignified, solemn way of lookin', too, with eyes wide open, same's a judge chargin' a jury.
"You'll never need a bucket," says he.
Just then I heard something that sounded like pouring water from a jug, and I looks around, to see Mr. Gordon turnin' plum color and holdin' himself by the short ribs. I knew what had happened then. The nutty one had handed me the lemon.
"Scratch me off," says I. "I'm in the wrong class. If there's to be any more Bloomingdale repartee, just count me out."
Naw, I wa'n't sore, or nothin' like that. If anyone can get free vawdyville from me I'll write 'em an annual pass; but I couldn't see the use of monkeyin' with that bug-house boarder. Say, if you was payin' for five rooms and bath when you went on the road, like Mr. Gordon was, would you stand for any machinery-loft butt-in like that? I was waitin' for the word to pile Sir Peter on the baggage truck, Danvers and all.
Think I got it? Nix! Some folks is easy pleased. And Pyramid Gordon, with seventeen different kinds of trouble bein' warmed up for him behind his back, stood there and played kid. Said he couldn't think of losin' Sir Peter after that. He'd got to have dinner with us. Blessed if he didn't too, pail and all! Couldn't fall for any talk about changin' cars; oh, no! But when he sees the pink candles, and the oysters on the half, and the quart bott' in the ice bath, he seemed to get his hearin' back by wireless.
"Dinner?" says he. "Ah, yes! Danvers, has the prime minister come yet? It was to-night that he was to dine with me, wasn't it?"
"To-morrow night, Sir Peter," says Danvers.