Rex shook him. "That won't do, Billy. I can't pick out a girl on that.
Will there be a chaperone with her?"

"No!" thundered Billy.

"How is a girl allowed to go to the theater with you without a
chaperone?" inquired Rex incredulously. "This is New York."

Strong brought down his fist. "Death to chaperones! _A bas les
chaperones!_ Don't you think girl's mother trust her to me? Look at me!
I'll be chaperone to tha' girl, and father, 'n' mother, 'n' a few uncles
and aunts." He threw his arm out with a gesture which comprised the
universe. "I'll be all the world to tha' girl. You go meet her 'n' tell
her you got me drunk," he concluded with a radiant smile.

Rex considered. There seemed to be enough method in Strong's madness to
justify the belief that he had an engagement. If so, he must by all
means wait and trust to luck to pick out the "lovely blue-eyed girlie"
who was the "party of the other part," and hope for an inspiration as to
what to tell her. She might be with or without a chaperone, she might be
any variety of the species, but Strong seemed to be quite clear that she
had blue eyes.

The crowd from the incoming boat began to unload into the ferry-house,
and Rex placed himself anxiously by the entrance. Three or four thin men
scurried in advance, then a bunch of stout and middle-aged persons
straggled along puffing. Then came a set of young people in theater
array, chattering and laughing as they hurried, and another set, and
another--the main body of the little army was upon him. Rex scanned