ouishe."

"Tell me, Ernie," says I, "how long has this been going on?"

And what do you suppose this fathead has the front to spring on me? That
this was the first time he'd ever seen her. Uh-huh! He sticks to that
tale. Even claims he don't know what the rest of her name is.

"Louishe, tha's all," says he. "Th' lovely Louishe."

"Oh, very well," says I. "We'll let it ride at that. And I expect she
picked you out all on account of your compelling beauty? Must have been
a sudden case, from the fond clinch I saw you gettin' as the cab
started."

Ernie closed his eyes slow, like he was goin' over the scene again, and
then remarks: "Thash when I begun to be surprished. Louishe has most
affec-shanate nashur."

"So it would seem," says I. "But where did the party take place?"

That little detail appears to have escaped Ernie. He remembered that
there were pink candles on the table, and music playing, and a lot of
nice people around. Also that the waiter's head was shiny, like an egg.
He thought it must have been at some hotel on Fifth Avenue. Yes, they
went in through a sidewalk canopy. It was a very nice dinner,
too--'specially the pheasant and the parfait in the silver cup. And it
was so funny to watch the bubbles keep coming up through the glass stem.

"Yes," says I, "that's one of New York's favorite winter sports. But
who was all this on--Louise?"

"She insists I'm her guesh," says Ernie.

"That made it very nice, then, didn't it?" says I. "But none of this
accounts for the dent in your hat and the other rough-house signs.
Somebody must have got real messy with you at some stage in the game.
Remember anything about that?"

"Oh!" says Ernie, stiffenin' up and tryin' to scowl. "Most--most
disagreeable persons. Actually rude."

"Who and where?" I insists.

"Louishe's family," says Ernie. "I--I don't care for her family. No.
Sorry, but----"

"Mean to say Louise took you home after dinner?" says I.

Ernie nods. "Wanted me to meet family," says he. "Dear old daddy,
darling mother, sho on. 'Charmed,' says I. I was willing to meet anyone
then. Right in the mood. 'Certainly,' says I. Feeling friendly. Patted
waiter on back, waved to orchestra leader, shook handsh with perfect
stranger going out. Went to lovely house, uptown somewhere. Fine ol'
butler, fine ol' rugsh in hall, tapeshtries on wall. And then--then----"

Ernie slumps into a chair, pushes the loose collar end away from his
chin fretful, and indulges