"What you lookin' for, anyway?" I goes on.
"Nothing I care to discuss with you, I think," says he.
"Bing-g-g," says I. "Right on the wrist!"
And then all of a sudden Mrs. Mumford gets hipped with the idea that Rupert is sort of bein' neglected. Well, trust her. She's been a sunshine worker and a social uplifter all her life. And no sooner does she get sympathizin' with Rupert than she starts plannin' ways of chirkin' him up.
"The poor dear Captain!" she gurgles gushy. "He seems so lonely and sad. Who knows what his past has been, how many dangers he has faced, what ordeals he has been through? If someone could only get him to talk about them, it might help."
"Why not tackle him, then?" says I. "Nobody could do it better than you."
"Oh, really now!" protests Mrs. Mumford, duckin' her chin kittenish. "I—I couldn't do it alone. Perhaps, though, if you young people would—"
"Oh, we will; won't we, Torchy?" says Vee.
I nods. Inside of half an hour, too, we had towed Rupert into a corner beside the widow and had him surrounded.
"Tell me, Captain," says Mrs. Mumford impulsive, "have you not led a most romantic life?"