'I go home.'

'Sure. But when you don't? It's a poor heart that never rejoices. Don't
you ever whoop it up?'

'Whoop it up?'

'The mad whirl,' explained Mr Shute. 'Ice-cream soda and buck-wheat
cakes, and a happy evening at lovely Luna Park.'

'I don't know where Luna Park is.'

'What did they teach you at school? It's out in that direction,' said
Mr Shute, pointing over his shoulder. 'You go straight on about three
thousand miles till you hit little old New York; then you turn to the
right. Say, don't you ever get a little treat? Why not come along to
the White City some old evening? This evening?'

'Mr Welsh is taking me to the White City tonight.'

'And who is Mr Welsh?'

'The gentleman who has just gone out.'

'Is that so? Well, he doesn't look a live one, but maybe it's just
because he's had bad news today. You never can tell.' He rose.
'Farewell, Evelina, fairest of your sex. We shall meet again; so keep a
stout heart.'