As long as he, Jack, lived upon his uncle's bounty--and that was really what it amounted it--he must at least try to contribute his own quota of good cheer and courtesy.

This was what Peter had done him the honor to advise, and he must begin at once if he wanted to show his appreciation of the courtesy.
His uncle opened the way: "Why, I didn't know until I saw him go out that he was a friend of Mr.
Portman's," he said as he sipped his coffee.
"Neither did I.But does it make any difference ?" answered Jack, flipping off the top of his egg.
"Well I should think so--about ninety-nine and nine-tenths percent," replied the older man emphatically.

"Let's invite him to dinner, Jack.
Maybe he'll come to one I'm giving next week and--" "I'll ask him--that is...

perhaps, though, you might write him a note, uncle, and--" "Of course," interrupted Breen, ignoring the suggestion, "when I wanted you to take him to the club I didn't know who he was." "Of course you did not," echoed Jack, suppressing a smile.
"The club! No, not by a damned sight!" exclaimed the head of the house of Breen.

As this latter observation was addressed to the circumambient air, and not immediately to Jack, it elicited no response.