"Whe-e-e-ew!" says Mr. Robert, through his front teeth. "Not the one that spells such with a T?"
"Ah, chee!" says I. "What's the odds how she spells, so long as she's got Lillian Russell in the back row? I didn't know your fat friend was in the car, anyway, and I thinks Frenchy might as well be cartin' her home in the rain as blockin' traffic on some side street. So I just loads her in and gives Louie the word. She never knew but what you had sense enough to do it yourself. Course, it was a fresh play for me to make; but I'll stand for it, and if Benny's feelin's was hurt, or yours was, you got an elegant show to take it out on me. Come on! Get out the can and the string!"
But you can't hustle Mr. Robert along that way. When he gets his programme laid out there ain't any use to try any broad jumps. He wants to know all about Mildred, who she is, where she comes from, and what's her class.
"You can take it from me," says I, "that she's a star. She's been up in the top bunch too, I guess; anyone can see that. But so long as she's jumped the job, where's the sense in lookin' up her pedigree now?"
"Well," says Mr. Robert, "I am still more or less interested. You see, she and Benny are to be married next month."
"Honest?" says I.
"I have it from Benny himself," says he.
"Did Benny tell you how he worked up the nerve to make such a swift job of it?" says I.
He hadn't. Near as I could make out, Benny hadn't told much of anything.
"Well," says I, "he's picked a winner, ain't he?"