"Very well, sir," says he. "It'll be quite a lark, sir."
Next I fixed it up with Mike, the doorman. He'd had a little run-in with Myra about not gettin' a taxi quite quick enough for her, so I had to double the ante and explain how this was a scheme Vee was workin'.
"Sure!" says he. "Anything Miss Verona says goes with me. I'll do my best."
The hard part came, though, when I has to invite Myra to this little dinner-party I'm supposed to be givin'. Course, it's Auntie's blow, but she's been primed by Vee to insist that I do the honors. First off, I was goin' to run up durin' lunch hour and pass it to Cousin Myra in person; but about eleven o'clock I decides it would be safer to use the 'phone.
"Oh!" says she. "I am to be utilized as a chaperon, am I?"
"Couldn't think of anybody who'd do it better," says I; "but, as a matter of fact, that ain't the idea. Auntie's going, you see, and I thought maybe I could induce you to come along, too."
"But I detest hotel dinners," says she.
"Ah, come on! Be a sport!" says I. "Lemme show you what I can pick from the menu. For one item, there'll be tripe à la mode de Caen."
"Then I'll come," says Myra. "But how on earth, young man, did you know that—"
"Just wait!" says I. "You got a lot of guessin' besides that. I'll call for you at seven sharp."