"Whither away, Peyton?" says I.
"Oh!" says he, sighin' discontented. "I suppose I must run up and spend the day with my married sister in New Haven."
"Why act so tickled over it?" says I.
"But I'm not, really," says Peyton. "It isn't that I am not fond of Ethel, and all that sort of thing. Walter—that's her husband—is a good sort, too, and the children are nice enough. But it's quite a trip to take for such a short visit—and rather expensive, you know. I've just been figuring up."
So he had. There on an office pad he's jotted down every item, including the cost of a ten-word day message and the price of a box of candy for the youngsters. He hadn't sent the wire yet, or bought the candy.
"Got your dinner coat in there?" I asks, noddin' to the suitcase.
He says he has.
"Then listen," says I. "Cross New Haven off the map for this time and lemme put you next to a week-end that won't set you back a nickel. Haven't seen my place out on Long Island yet, have you; or met the new heir to the house of Torchy?"
"Why—why, no, I haven't," hesitates Peyton.
"High time, then," says I. "It'll all be on me, even to lettin' you punch in on my trip ticket. Eh? What say?"