"Not me," says I. "I'll stay long enough to get you started right. Come along. Ah, there's Joe, down at the end, and when he—Eh? Did you choke or anything? Well, of all things!"
Course, he'd spotted 'em right away—Mirabelle and Chuck Dempsey. They're at a little table over by the wall chattin' away cosy and confidential. It hadn't taken 'em long to re-establish friendly relations. In fact, Chuck was just reachin' playful for one of Mirabelle's hands and he was gettin' away with the act.
"Why," says I, "it looks like the S.R.O. sign was out already."
Yes, it was a bit raw for Vincent. He shows his polite bringin' up though. No rash moves or hasty words from him. He backs out graceful, even if he is a bit pale about the gills. And not until we're well outside does he let loose a husky remark.
"Well, I—I've been made a fool of, I suppose," says he.
"That depends on who's doing the judgin'," says I. "This Dempsey's no newcomer, you know. Anyway, now you can go home to dinner with Mother."
"But I can't," says Vincent. "You see, I left word that I was dining in town and she—she would want to know why I didn't."
"That's easy fixed," says I. "You're havin' dinner with me, out at my Long Island shack. Haven't seen the large-sized family I'm startin', have you? Well, here's your chance. And we can just make the 6:47."
Not that I'd planned it all out, but it was the best antidote to Mirabelle that I could have thought up. For Vee is—Well, she's quite different from Mirabelle. And I suspect after Vincent had watched her playin' her star part as the fond little wife, and been led up to the nursery to have the baby exhibited to him, and heard us joshin' each other friendly—Well maybe he wondered how Mirabelle would show up in a strictly domestic sketch.
"Torchy," says he, grippin' my hand as I'm about to load him on the 10:26, "I believe I'm not going to care so much about losing Mirabelle, after all."