"Uh-huh!" says I. "I know. She said, 'Oh, I think you're a wonderful dancer, simp-ly won-n-n-n-derful!' Didn't she now?"
First off Stanley stiffens up like he was goin' to be peeved. But then he remembers and lets out chuckle. "Yes," says he, "I believe those were her exact words. Perhaps she was right, too. And if I have such an unsuspected talent as that shouldn't I exercise it occasionally? I leave it to you."
"You've said it, Stanley," says I. "And after all, I guess you're goin' to be a help. You had a narrow call, though."
"From what?" asks Stanley.
"Premature old age," says I, givin' him the friendly grin.
CHAPTER XVI
THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTY-ONE
If I knew how, you ought to be worked up to the proper pitch for this scene. You know—lights dimmed, throbby music from the bull fiddle and kettle drums, and the ushers seatin' nobody durin' the act. Belasco stuff. The stage showin' the private office of the Corrugated Trust. It's a case of the big four in solemn conclave.