I'd hate that."
"Would you?" says Vee. "Really? Well, I've been asked to visit at
three places--Greenwich, Piping Rock, and here in town. How would that
be?"
"Not so bad," says I, "specially that last proposition. I'm strong for
your visitin' here in town."
"Perhaps we shall hear to-night whether I'm to go or not," says Vee.
"They are to hold some sort of meeting here--everyone who has been
asked on the cruise. There's someone now."
"It's Mr. Ellins," says I, "and-- Oh, look who he's towin' along--J.
Dudley Simms. He must be for comic relief."
Just why him and Old Hickory should be such great friends I never could
make out, for they're about as much alike as T and S. Dudley's as thin
as Mr. Ellins is thick; he always wears that batty twisted smile, while
Old Hickory's mouth corners are generally straight, and he knows no
more about finance than an ostrich does about playin' first base. Mr.
Simms owns a big block of Corrugated preferred, and he's supposed to be
on the Board; but all he ever does is to sign over proxy slips and duck
directors' meetings.
"I'm an orphan, you know," is his stock remark when anyone tries to
talk business to him.
Even if he didn't wear gray spats and a wide ribbon on his eyeglasses,
you'd spot him for a funny gink by the offset ears and the odd way he
has of carryin' his head a little to one side.
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