It was rough of him, as he was given to understand by the looks of all three ladies present, includin' Mrs. Robert; so he tries to square himself by lookin' up a ten o'clock train, all Pullman, with diner and observation.
"I would gladly take you up myself," says he, lyin' fluent, "if I didn't have to go back to my boat. But here is Torchy. He'll go, I suppose."
"Of course," says Vee.
And that's how I came to be occupyin' drawin'-room A, along with mother and sister Marion, as we breezes up into the Pennsylvania hills on this Wilfred hunt. A gushy, giggly young party Marion is, but she turns out to be quite a help. It was her who spots the two young soldiers driftin' through towards the smokin' compartment, and suggests that maybe they're goin' to the same camp.
"And they would know if Wilfred was there, wouldn't they?" she adds.
"Maybe," says I. "I'll go ask."
Nice, clean-cut young chaps they was. They'd stretched out comfortable on the leather seats, and was enjoyin' a perfectly good smoke, until I shows up. The minute I appears, though, they chucks their cigars and jumps up, heels together, right hand to the hat-brim. That's what I get by havin' this dinky bar on my shoulders.
"Can it, boys," says I. "This is unofficial."
"At ease, sir?" suggests one.
"As easy as you know how," says I.