He turned upon her, but with a ray in his eyes. "Say, Gert, that ain't
such a worse idea, but--"

"No buts. The night is young, and I know a fellow used to walk from the
Bronx to Brooklyn with his girl every Sunday."

"Sure! What's an eight-mile walk on a spring night like this? It's all
cleared up and stopped raining. Only, gee! I--I hate to be getting home
all hours again."

She flipped him a gesture. "Say, it's not my surprise party you're
giving."

"It's not that, Gert, only I don't want to keep her waiting until she
gets sore enough to have the edge taken off the surprise when it does
come."

"Say, suit yourself. It's not my kid I'm going to wheel out to-morrow. I
should worry."

"I'll do it."

"You're not doing me a favor. With my cold and my marcel, a three-hour
walk ain't the one thing in life I'm craving."

"I'll roll it over the bridge and be home by twelve, easy. You take the
Subway, Gert; it's too big a trot for you."

"Nix! I don't start anything I can't finish."