He's halfway out to the elevator before it occurs to him that he ain't
responded with any grateful remarks; so back he comes to tell how much
obliged he is.

"And, Torchy," he adds, "you know you haven't been out to see baby yet.
Why, you must see little Ferdinand!"

"Ye-e-es, I been meanin' to," says I, maybe not wildly enthusiastic.
"I expect he's quite a kid by this time."

"Eleven months lacking four days," says Ferdy, his face beamin'.
"Wait! I want to show you his latest picture. Really wonderful
youngster, I tell you."

So I has to inspect a snapshot that Ferdy produces from his pocketbook;
and, while it looks about as insignificant as most of 'em, I pumps up
some gushy remarks which seem to make a hit with Ferdy.

"Couldn't you come out Sunday?" says he.

"'Fraid not," says I. "In fact, I'm booked up for quite a spell."

"Too bad," says Ferdy, "for we're almost alone now,--only Peggy and
Jane--my little nieces, you know--and Miss Hemmingway, who----"

"Vee?" says I, comin' straight up on my toes. "Say, Ferdy, I think I
can break away Sunday, after all. Ought to see that youngster of
yours, hadn't I? Must be mighty cute by now."