It comes out so unexpected that for a second or so I just gawps at her, and then I asks: "Referrin' to my hair?"
"Forgive me, young man," says she. "But it is such a cheerful shade."
"Yes'm," says I. "So I've been told. Some call it fire-hydrant red, but I claim it's only super-pink."
"Anyway, I like it very much," says she. "I hope they don't call you Reddy, though?"
"No, ma'am," says I. "Torchy."
"Why, how clever!" says she. "May I call you that, too? And I suppose you are one of Mr. Ellins' assistants?"
"His private secretary," says I. "So you can see what luck he's playin' in. Did you want to talk to him 'special, or is it anything I can fix up for you?"
"It's rather personal, I'm afraid," says she. "The boy at the door insisted that Mr. Ellins wasn't in, but I told him I didn't mind waiting."
"That's nice," says I. "He'll be back in a week or so."
"Oh!" says she. "Then he went away before my note came?"