"Old! Me _old_! Oh, I don't know. Why, dash it, there
are plenty of men as old as I am dancing the tango here
every night. Pray call me, if you don't mind, just
Knickerbocker, or simply Knicky--most of the other boys
call me Knicky. Now what's it to be?"

"Most of all," I said, "I should like to go to some quiet
place and have a talk about the old days."

"Right," he said. "We're going to just the place now--nice
quiet dinner, a good quiet orchestra, Hawaiian, but quiet,
and lots of women." Here he smacked his lips again, and
nudged me with his elbow. "Lots of women, bunches of
them. Do you like women?"

"Why, Mr. Knickerbocker," I said hesitatingly, "I
suppose--I--"

The old man sniggered as he poked me again in the ribs.

"You bet you do, you dog!" he chuckled. "We _all_ do.
For me, I confess it, sir, I can't sit down to dinner
without plenty of women, stacks of them, all round me."

Meantime the taxi had stopped. I was about to open the
door and get out.

"Wait, wait," said Father Knickerbocker, his hand upon
my arm, as he looked out of the window. "I'll see somebody