"Certainly," says he. "Say five thousand—ten—"
"Make it five," says I. "May I call up Mr. Robert from here?"
Mrs. Robert Ellins tells me this is his night at the club, so all I has to do is hop a Fifth Avenue stage, and in less'n twenty minutes he's broke away from his billiard game and is listenin' while I state the situation to him.
"Course," says I, "it would bump Auntie some, but seems to me it's comin' to her."
"Quite a reasonable conclusion," says he.
"It ain't as if she needed Vee," I goes on. "She's just got in the habit of havin' her 'round. That might be all right, too, if she didn't have the travel bug so bad. But with her keepin' on the wing so constant— Well, I'm no bloomin' sea-gull. And when you're engaged, this long-distance stuff ought to be ruled out. It's got to be."
"The way you suggest ought to accomplish that," says Mr. Robert.
"What sticks me is where to camp down afterwards," says I. "I've been lookin' around some, but—"
"By Jove!" says Mr. Robert, slappin' his knee. "Who was it that was bothering me just after dinner? Waddy Crane! He's been pretending to be an artist, you know; but now he's got hold of his money, it's all off. He's going to start a bandbox theater in Chicago, elevate the drama, all that sort of thing. And that studio apartment of his up in the Fifties would be the very thing for you two. Wants to unload the lease and furnishings. Oh, Waddy has excellent taste in rugs and old mahogany. And it will be a rare bargain; I shall see to that. What do you say?"
Bein' in the plungin' mood, I said I'd take a chance.