"Of course I give my promise! All I said was that the weather bureau of my bad toe predicts that there's likely to be a storm because of this--and I want you to use your brain, son, I want you to use your brain!" He upreared his big, shag-haired figure and gripped Larry's hand.
"You're all right, Larry--and here's wishing you luck! Now get to hell out of here before Gavegan and Casey drop in for a cup of tea, or your old friends begin target practice with their hip artillery.

I want a little quiet in which to finish my packing.
"And say, son," he added, as he pushed Larry through the door, "don't fall dead at the sight of me when you see me next, for I'm likely to be walking around inside all the finery and vanity of Fifth Avenue.".