"Gosh!" says I. "I hope you don't call two hours of Greig frivolous."
That seems to be his idea, though. Anything that ain't connected with quotations on carload lots or domestic demands for middlings he looks at scornful. He tells me he's on the trail of a big foreign contract, but is afraid its going to get away from him.
"Maybe you'd linger on for a year or so if it did," I suggests.
"Perhaps," says he, "but I intend to let nothing distract me from my work."
And then here a few days later I runs across him making for the 5:03 with two giggly young sub-debs in tow. After he's planted 'em in a seat and stowed their hand luggage and wraps on the rack I slips into the vacant space with him behind the pair.
"Where'd you collect the sweet young things, Stanley?" says I.
He shakes his head and groans. "Think of it!" says he. "Marge's folks had to chase off to Bermuda for the Easter holidays and so they wish Polly, the kid sister, onto us for two whole weeks. Not only that, but Polly has the nerve to bring along this Dot person, her roommate at boarding school. What on earth we're ever going to do with them I'm sure I don't know."
"Is Polly the one with the pointed chin and the I-dare-you pout?" I asks.
"No, that's Dot," says he. "Polly's the one with the cheek dimples and the disturbing eyes. She's a case, too."
"They both look like they might be live wires," says I. "I see they've brought their mandolins, also. And what's so precious in the bundle you have on your knees?"