after lookin' me over like I was a immigrant's trunk and he was a customs inspector, was goin' to give me the gate without further ado. I was seriously considerin' the proposition of smackin' him down, when Dolores happened to pass and hear my voice.
"Why, of all people!" she says. "Hello, Joe—I'm so glad to see you!" Then she turns to the butler, which knows he's batted out of turn and looks it. "Peters, show Mister Murphy to the drawin' room," she says. "I'll join you in a moment, Joe. Make yourself comfortable."
Now that he sees I mean somethin', this butler buttles his head off for my benefit.
Whilst I'm waitin' for Dolores, I hear her at the telephone in the hall. It seems she's givin' orders to her political lieutenants, and from her line of chatter you'd think she was a Tammany Hall boss. Short, crisp, man talk and right to the point.
Waitin' for her to hang up the phone and come into the drawin' room, I'm nervously rehearsin' in my mind the speech I'm goin' to make to her in behalf of Kid Roberts—her husband and our mutual friend. Tryin' to pour oil on the troubled waters of matrimony is what you call a delicate task and as a rule the best you can look for is the worst of it. In the middle of my thoughts along these lines, in comes Dolores, caparisoned in a negligée which would of drove Nero cuckoo.
"Dolor—eh—Mrs. Halliday," I begins. "You"
"Not Mrs. Halliday, Joe," smiles Dolores, takin' a seat opposite me. "Miss Brewster!"
