I'll have to hurry; we're a morning paper, you know, Jimmie." "What! Really! Is it as late as that." Jimmie Dale rose from his chair as Carruthers stood up.

"Well, if you must--" "I must," said Carruthers, with a laugh.
"All right, O slave." Jimmie Dale laughed back--and slipped his hand, a trick of their old college days together, through Carruthers' arm as they left the room.
He accompanied Carruthers downstairs to the door of the club, and saw his guest into a taxi; then he returned inside, sauntered through the billiard room, and from there into one of the cardrooms, where, pressed into a game, he played several rubbers of bridge before going home.
It was, therefore, well on toward midnight when Jimmie Dale arrived at his house on Riverside Drive, and was admitted by an elderly manservant.
"Hello, Jason," said Jimmie Dale pleasantly.

"You still up!" "Yes, sir," replied Jason, who had been valet to Jimmie Dale's father before him.

"I was going to bed, sir, at about ten o'clock, when a messenger came with a letter.

Begging your pardon, sir, a young lady, and--" "Jason"-- Jimmie Dale flung out the interruption, sudden, quick, imperative--"what did she look like ?" "Why--why, I don't exactly know as I could describe her, sir," stammered Jason, taken aback.