"It is," says Vincent, just a bit defiant.
"Congratulations, old man," says I, poundin' him friendly on the shoulder. "I don't suppose I could guess who, could I?"
"I—I don't think you could," says Vincent.
"Then it's my blow to luncheon—reg'lar chop-house feed in honor of the big event," says I. "Come along, Vincent, while I order a bottle of one and a half per cent. to drink to your luck."
Course, he can't very well get away from that, me being one of his bosses, as you might say. But he acts a little uneasy.
"You see, sir," says he, "it—it isn't quite settled."
"I get you," says I. "Going to spring it on her tonight, eh?"
He admits that is the plan.
"Durin' the course of a little dinner, eh?" I goes on.
Vincent nods.