"A young violinist," says Mr. Robert, "a friend of Ferdie's, I believe, who——"
"Bet a million it's Sukey!" breaks in Nutt. "Blair Hiscock, isn't it!"
"That is his name," admits Mr. Robert. "But this is to be nothing formal, you know: only Marjorie is bringing him down to the house, and has asked in a few people."
"By George!" says Nutt, slappin' his knee enthusiastic. "Couldn't you get me in on that affair, Bob?"
"Why—er—I might," says Mr. Robert. "I didn't know, though, that you were passionately fond of violin music. It's to be rather a classical programme, and——"
"Classic be blowed!" says Nutt. "What I want is a fair whack at Sukey. Seen him, haven't you?"
Mr. Robert shakes his head.
"Well, wait until you do," says Hamilton. "Say, he's a rare treat, Sukey. About as big as a fox terrier, and just as snappy. Oh, you'll love Sukey! If he doesn't hand you something peppery before you've known him ten minutes, then I'm mistaken. Know what he used to call your sister Marjorie, summer before last? Baby Dimple! After a golf ball, you know. That's a sample of Sukey's tongue."
Mr. Robert shrugs his shoulders. "Quite her own affair, I suppose," says he.
"Oh, she didn't mind," says Nutt. "Everyone stands for Sukey—on account of his music. Only he is such a conceited, snobbish little whelp that it makes you ache to cuff him. Couldn't, of course. Why, he'll begin sniveling if you look cross at him! But it would be great sport to—— Say, Bob, who's going to be there—anyone special?"