“I thought of that,” said the other, not noticing the laugh. “Barney Brockway will be the attorney-general himself. That’s a part of his bargain with Harding.”
And then all at once Mr. Roscoe recollected Bunny, sitting over by the window, supposed to be reading a book. “I suppose our boy Bolsheviki will understand, this ain’t for use on the soap-box.”
Dad answered, quickly, “Bunny has known about my affairs ever since he was knee-high to a grass-hopper. All right, Verne, I’ll send you a check when you’re ready.”
IV
The sun went down, and it was time for Mr. Roscoe to make his get-away. But first he had dinner; and when he was through with his ice-cream and coffee, he pushed his plate away, and took his napkin out of his neck, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of content; and while he was unrolling his cigar from its gold foil, he fixed his shrewd eyes upon Bunny across the table, and said, “Jim Junior, I’ll tell you what’s the matter with you.”
“All right,” said Jim Junior, receptively.
“You’re a nice kid, but you’re too god-damn serious. You take life too hard—you and your old man both. You got to get a little fun as you go along, and I know what you need. You got a girl, kid?”
“Not right now,” said Bunny, blushing a trifle.
“I thought so. You need one, to take you out and cheer you up. Mind you, I don’t mean one of these jazz-babies—get a girl that’s got some sense, like my Annabelle. You know Annabelle Ames?”
“I’ve never met her. I’ve seen her, of course.”