"It's worse than that," says he. "I—I've lost—Lucy."
"Wha-a-t!" says I, gaspy. "You don't mean she—she's——"
"No," says Babe. "She's just quit me and gone home."
"But—but why?" I blurted out.
"Lord knows," groans Babe. "That's what I want to find out."
Honest, it listens like a first-class mystery. According to him they'd been staying at one of the swellest joints he could find in the whole state of Florida. Also he'd bought Lucy all the kinds of clothes she would let him buy, from sport suits to evening gowns. She'd taken up a lot of different things, too—golf, riding, swimming, dancing. Seemed to be having a bully time when—bang! She breaks out into a weepy spell and announces that she is going home. Does it, too, all by her lonesome, leaving Babe to trail along by the next train.
"And for the life of me, Torchy," he declares, "I can't imagine why."
"Well, let's try to piece it out," says I. "First off, how have you been spending your honeymoon?"
"Oh, golf mostly," says he. "I was runner up in the big tournament."
"I see," says I. "Thirty-six holes a day, eh?"