TIPPY. Well? If you can put up with Ted, who never did a lick of
work in his life, why quarrel with Ken who is now a true worker,
being duly exploited by a wicked capitalist?

MARTIN. Who said I'd quarrel with him?

TIPPY. You will.

MARTIN. All right. You referee.

TIPPY. If he high-hats you with his success I'll tell him that
you've sold a drawing to the _New Yorker_ and you can high-hat him
back.

MARTIN. Lay off that _New Yorker_ stuff.

TIPPY. Sensitive?

MARTIN. Don't be an ass. It's unimportant, that's all.

TIPPY. Eighty dollars--unimportant?

MARTIN. [_Lays aside drawing, removes eyeshade and rises._] You've
got me wrong if you think I've any qualms about a reunion with our
blissfully-wed bourgeois comrades. Where I doubt your horse sense
is in inviting Kate.

TIPPY. You can't ask a bride to attend a stag party with four men!