Company.'
Packy was interested. He liked his radio of an evening.
'Is he the fellow who says "Good night, everybody, good night!"?'
'No. He ...'
'I've got him placed. He's the one who lectures on Fat Stock prices.'
'No. He does the noises off.'
'How do you mean, the noises off?'
'Well, when they have a sketch or something where they have to have noises, Blair makes them.'
'I get you. You mean, somebody says "Hurrah, girls, here comes the Royal Bodyguard!" and Blair goes tramp, tramp, tramp.'
'Yes. And all sorts of other noises. He's awfully clever at it.'
Packy nodded.
'I can quite see why you want to marry him. The home can never be dull if at any moment the husband is able to imitate a motor horn or the mating-cry of the boll-weevil. But you don't think your father will take that view?'
'Father is very material. He seems to think so much of money.'
'And just about now Eggleston is breaking it to him that he hasn't any. Tell me, what is the greatest number of wild cats your father has ever killed with his teeth in a given time?'
'The question seemed to displease the girl.
'I wish you wouldn't talk like that.'
'I'm sorry.'
'They may get along splendidly.'
'They may.'
'What I'm hoping is that, even if Father doesn't agree to our marrying at once, at least he will like Blair well enough to give him some good job.'
'Imitating boll-weevils?'
In the bearing of Jane Opal as she hitched herself round in her chair and gazed at Packy there was something of the old fire.
'I see you have a cauliflower ear.'
'An old football wound.'
'Want another?'
'No, thanks.'
'Then don't talk like that. Blair is a very wonderful man, and he only makes noises off because his books are so clever that the public won't buy them. The critics say he is the coming novelist.'
'And here he comes.'
Blair Eggleston had suddenly appeared in the lobby and was standing peering hither and thither in search of his vanished lady. Even at this distance it was evident that he was somewhat dazed. His face wore a bewildered, stunned look.
'Well, he's still in one piece,' said Packy, 'and there don't seem to be any tooth-marks on him. Can Dad be losing his pep?'
'He looks goofy,' said Jane. 'I wonder what the matter is.'
She called loudly, and the coming novelist, at last sighting her, advanced totteringly, as one who has either suffered some severe spiritual shock or received a punch in the wind.
'Well?' said Jane.'Well?'
Blair Eggleston blinked.
'I say...'
'What happened?'
'Well, I went in...'
'And what happened?'
'I saw your father...'
'He could hardly help doing that,' explained Packy, 'in an ordinary-sized apartment. I saw your father, too – distinctly. How was he coming along with that sheet?'
'Will you please be quiet,' said Jane. 'Blair!' Her voice took on a Senatorial vehemence. It would have interested a student of heredity. 'Stop dithering and tell me what happened.'
Blair Eggleston seemed to pull himself together with a strong effort.
'Well, I went in, and he was standing there, and before I could get a word out he said, "Are you honest and sober?"'
'Honest and sober?' squeaked Jane.
'The first thing fathers ask prospective sons-in-law,' Packy assured her. 'Pure routine.'
'And what did you say?'
'I said I was.'
'That sounds like the right answer,' said Packy critically.
'And then he asked me if I knew how to take care of clothes. And I said I did. And then he said, "Well, you don't look like much, but I suppose I've got to give you a trial." And I suddenly discovered that he had engaged me as his valet.'
'What!'
'Just what you were hoping,' said Packy. 'You said you wished your father would give him a job. The dream come true. Local Boy Makes Good.'
Jane was wrestling with her chagrin.
'But, Blair!... Didn't you explain?'
'I hadn't time. The telephone rang, and he told me to answer it, and it was this Mrs Gedge you are going to stay with. She was downstairs and wanted to see him. So he told me to get out,
Packy was interested. He liked his radio of an evening.
'Is he the fellow who says "Good night, everybody, good night!"?'
'No. He ...'
'I've got him placed. He's the one who lectures on Fat Stock prices.'
'No. He does the noises off.'
'How do you mean, the noises off?'
'Well, when they have a sketch or something where they have to have noises, Blair makes them.'
'I get you. You mean, somebody says "Hurrah, girls, here comes the Royal Bodyguard!" and Blair goes tramp, tramp, tramp.'
'Yes. And all sorts of other noises. He's awfully clever at it.'
Packy nodded.
'I can quite see why you want to marry him. The home can never be dull if at any moment the husband is able to imitate a motor horn or the mating-cry of the boll-weevil. But you don't think your father will take that view?'
'Father is very material. He seems to think so much of money.'
'And just about now Eggleston is breaking it to him that he hasn't any. Tell me, what is the greatest number of wild cats your father has ever killed with his teeth in a given time?'
'The question seemed to displease the girl.
'I wish you wouldn't talk like that.'
'I'm sorry.'
'They may get along splendidly.'
'They may.'
'What I'm hoping is that, even if Father doesn't agree to our marrying at once, at least he will like Blair well enough to give him some good job.'
'Imitating boll-weevils?'
In the bearing of Jane Opal as she hitched herself round in her chair and gazed at Packy there was something of the old fire.
'I see you have a cauliflower ear.'
'An old football wound.'
'Want another?'
'No, thanks.'
'Then don't talk like that. Blair is a very wonderful man, and he only makes noises off because his books are so clever that the public won't buy them. The critics say he is the coming novelist.'
'And here he comes.'
Blair Eggleston had suddenly appeared in the lobby and was standing peering hither and thither in search of his vanished lady. Even at this distance it was evident that he was somewhat dazed. His face wore a bewildered, stunned look.
'Well, he's still in one piece,' said Packy, 'and there don't seem to be any tooth-marks on him. Can Dad be losing his pep?'
'He looks goofy,' said Jane. 'I wonder what the matter is.'
She called loudly, and the coming novelist, at last sighting her, advanced totteringly, as one who has either suffered some severe spiritual shock or received a punch in the wind.
'Well?' said Jane.'Well?'
Blair Eggleston blinked.
'I say...'
'What happened?'
'Well, I went in...'
'And what happened?'
'I saw your father...'
'He could hardly help doing that,' explained Packy, 'in an ordinary-sized apartment. I saw your father, too – distinctly. How was he coming along with that sheet?'
'Will you please be quiet,' said Jane. 'Blair!' Her voice took on a Senatorial vehemence. It would have interested a student of heredity. 'Stop dithering and tell me what happened.'
Blair Eggleston seemed to pull himself together with a strong effort.
'Well, I went in, and he was standing there, and before I could get a word out he said, "Are you honest and sober?"'
'Honest and sober?' squeaked Jane.
'The first thing fathers ask prospective sons-in-law,' Packy assured her. 'Pure routine.'
'And what did you say?'
'I said I was.'
'That sounds like the right answer,' said Packy critically.
'And then he asked me if I knew how to take care of clothes. And I said I did. And then he said, "Well, you don't look like much, but I suppose I've got to give you a trial." And I suddenly discovered that he had engaged me as his valet.'
'What!'
'Just what you were hoping,' said Packy. 'You said you wished your father would give him a job. The dream come true. Local Boy Makes Good.'
Jane was wrestling with her chagrin.
'But, Blair!... Didn't you explain?'
'I hadn't time. The telephone rang, and he told me to answer it, and it was this Mrs Gedge you are going to stay with. She was downstairs and wanted to see him. So he told me to get out,
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