"Please!" insists Betty. "Every one else is being so stupid. And you're supposed to entertain me, you know."
"Well," says I, "I did hear kind of a rich one while I was waitin' at the club for Mr. Robert today only I don't know as——"
"Listen, everybody," announces Betty vivacious. "Torchy is going to tell a story."
Course, that gets me pinked up like the candle shades and I shakes my head vigorous.
"Hear, hear!" says Mr. Robert.
"Oh, do!" adds Mrs. Ellins.
As for Vee, she looks across at me doubtful. "I hope it isn't that one about a Mr. Cohen who played poker all night," says she.
"Wrong guess," says I. "It's one I overheard at Mr. Robert's club while a bunch of young sports was comparin' notes on settin' hens."
"How do you mean, setting hens?" asks Mr. Robert.
"It's the favorite indoor sport up in New England now, I understand," says I. "It's the pie-belt way of taking the sting out of the prohibition amendment. You know, building something with a kick to it. I didn't get the details, but they use corn-meal, sugar, water, raisins and the good old yeast cake, and let it set in a cask! for twenty-one days. Nearly everybody up there has a hen on, I judge, or one just coming off."