When he says sob, I sob.

He just snaps his fingers, Mr.Dewitt, and I sit up and go through my tricks very nicely.

You ought to see how nicely I do them." Mr.Dewitt put up a hand and pulled at his close-cropped, white mustache that could not hide the twitching of his lips.

"I have seen," he said drily, and leaned forward for a word with the liveried chauffeur.

"Turn up on Broadway and stop at the Victoria," he said, and the chin of the driver dropped an inch to prove he heard.
Dewitt laid his fingers on Jean's arm to catch her attention.