Sadie likes to take 'em in once in awhile, though, and as long as she'll spend what there's left of the night with friends in town, and don't keep me hangin' round until the brewery trucks and milk wagons begin to get busy, I ain't got any kick comin'.
It was one of these fussy functions I was dodgin'. I'd had my dinner at home, peaceable and quiet, while Sadie was dressin', and at that there was plenty of time left for me to tow her into town and land her at the Twombley-Cranes', where they had the sidewalk canopy out and an extra carriage caller on duty. I'd quit at the mat, though, and was slopin' down the front steps, when I'm held up by this sharp-spoken old girl with the fam'ly umbrella and the string bonnet.
"Young man," says she, plantin' herself square in front of me, "is this Mr. Twombley-Crane's house?"
"This is where it begins," says I, lookin' her over some amused; for that lid of hers sure was the quaintest thing on Fifth-ave.
"Humph!" says she. "Looks more like the way into a circus! What's this thing for?" and she waves the umbrella scornful at the canopy.
"Why," says I, "this is to protect the guests from the rude stares of the common herd; also it's useful in case of a shower."
"Of all things!" says she, sniffin' contemptuous.
"If you don't like the idea," says I, "suppose I mention it to Mr. Twombley-Crane? Maybe he'll take it down."
"That'll do, young man!" says she. "Don't try to be smart with me! And don't think I'm asking fool questions just out of curiosity! I'm related to Twombley-Crane."
"I--I take it all back then," says I. "Excuse my gettin' so gay. Come on a visit, have you?"
"Ye-e-es," says she hesitatin'; "that is, I s'pose we have. We ain't made up our minds exactly."
"Mr. Leavitt is behind the tent there, as usual," says she, "and he---- My land! I guess it's jest as well he is," she gasps, as a limousine rolls up to the front of the canopy, a liveried footman hops off the driver's seat, whisks open the door, and helps unload Mrs. K. Taylor French.
Quite some wishbone in front and more or less spinal column aft Mrs. K. Taylor is exposin' as she brushes past us up the strip of red carpet. So you could hardly blame the old girl for bein' jarred.