At the little table down the room Van Pycke, senior, was holding forth in his most suave, convincing manner.
"Gentlemen, I don't know what New York is coming to. There are not ten real gentlemen between the Battery and Central Park. Nothing but money grabbers. They don't know how to live. They eat like the devil and drink as though they lived in an aquarium; and they say they're New Yorkers."
Mr. Van Pycke's patrician nose was a shade redder than usual. Billings, paying no heed to his remarks, was trying to remember how Van Pycke looked before his nose was thoroughly pickled. It was a long way back, thought Mr. Billings, vaguely.
"I think I'll have a high-ball," said Mr. Van Pycke. "Have something, Knapp? Billings? Oh, I remember: you don't drink immediately after dinner. Splendid idea, too. I think I'll follow your example, to-night at least. I have a rather important--er--engagement, later on." He twirled his mustache fondly.
"You'll pursue the fair sex up to the very brink of the grave, Van Pycke," grumbled Knapp.
"If you mean my own grave, yes," said the other, calmly. "If you mean that I'll pursue any fair sexton to the brink of _her_ grave, you're mistaken. I don't like old women. By the way, Knapp, do you happen to know Jim Scoville's widow?"
"Certainly. I don't discuss dowagers. Everybody knows the old one. I mean the pretty Mrs. Scoville."
"More or less scandal about her, isn't there?" ventured Billings, pricking up his ears.
"Not a grain of truth in it, not a grain," retorted Mr. Van Pycke in such a way that you had the feeling he wanted you to believe there _was_ scandal and that he was more or less connected with it. He studied the chandelier in a most evasive manner. "Ahem! Do you know her?"
"Only by reputation," said Knapp, with gentle irony.
"I've seen her," said Billings. "At the horse show. Or was it the automobile--"
"I was in her box at one and in her tonneau at the other," said Mr. Van Pycke, taking the cigar Knapp extended. He glanced at his watch with sudden interest. "Yes, I see quite a bit of her. Charming girl--ahem! Of course" (punctuating his opinion with deliberate care) "she has been talked about, in a way. Lot of demmed old tabbies around town rippin' her up the back whenever she turns to look the other way. Old Mrs. Scoville is the queen tabby. She hates the young Mrs. Jim like poison. And, come to think of it, I don't blame the dowager. Charlotte is one of the most attract--"