“Who is he?”
“You’ll see to-morrow. Listen, I want you come in and meet—come meet um at lunch. Going,” with ponderous jocularity, “going to blow you all to a swell feed at the Grand—”
“Oh, how nice!”
“—so I want you to meet me at the eleven-forty interurban, at College Square. Can you?”
Vaguely, “Oh, I’d love to but— I have an eleven o’clock, and I don’t like to cut it, and I promised May Harmon to go shopping with her—she’s looking for some kind of shoes that you can wear with her pink crêpe de chine but that you can walk in—and we sort of thought maybe we might lunch at Ye Kollege Karavanserai—and I’d half planned to go to the movies with her or somebody, Mother says that new Alaska film is simply dandy, she saw it to-night, and I thought I might go see it before they take it off, though Heaven knows I ought to come right home and study and not go anywhere at all—”
“Now listen! It’s important. Don’t you trust me? Will you come or not?”
“Why, of course I trust you, dear. All right, I’ll try to be there. The eleven-forty?”
“At College Square? Or at Bluthman’s Book Shop?”
“At College Square!”