"Yes," says I, "that's one of New York's favorite winter sports. But who was all this on—Louise?"
"She insists I'm her guesh," says Ernie.
"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of this accounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs. Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game. Remember anything about that?"
"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most—most disagreeable persons. Actually rude."
"Who and where?" I insists.
"Louishe's family," says Ernie. "I—I don't care for her family. No. Sorry, but——"
"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I.
Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family," says he. "Dear old daddy, darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed,' says I. I was willing to meet anyone then. Right in the mood. 'Certainly,' says I. Feeling friendly. Patted waiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfect stranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol' butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then—then——"
Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from his chin fretful, and indulges in a deep sigh. I expect he thinks he's told the whole story.
"I take it," says I, "that you did meet dear old daddy?"