"Mrs.Curtis, senior, is thanking her stars at this minute that she will have a chance of paralyzing Bloomington with full details of her nephew's marriage into the ranks of the British aristocracy.

The odd thing is that I'm tickled to death by the notion that I, little Howard, put you in for this night's gorgeous doings.
Didn't you wonder why I passed up an introduction to _my_ aunt and my cousins in the Customs shed?
Man alive, if Mrs.Morgan Apjohn had made your acquaintance to-day she would have insisted on your dining with the family to-night, and at 7.30 P.M.

your feet would have been safely tucked under the mahogany in her home on Riverside Drive instead of leading you into the maze you seem to have found so readily.

All I wanted was an excuse to get away soon.

Gee whizz! What a fireworks display you've put up in the meantime!" "Fifth," said the clerk to the elevator attendant, and the four men shot skyward.
As each floor above the street level was a replica of the next higher one, Curtis happened to note that the route followed to the Frenchman's room was similar to that leading to 605.
"What number does Monsieur de Courtois occupy ?" he inquired.
"505," said the clerk.
"Then it is directly beneath mine ?" "Yes, sir.