Page:Glitter (1926).pdf/262



He was hailed from sleep the next morning by the peal of his bedside telephone and a lilting remote announcement to the effect that "This is me."

"It's who?"

"Me. The old soak."

"Oh, hello, Cecily," he chuckled.

"Why, you're horrid!" cried Cecily instantly. "You weren't supposed to identify me by that!"

Jock thought, "Gee, she's got a cute voice! She sort of sings everything."

He propped himself on one elbow and gazed absorbedly at the telephone's mouthpiece. "How are you this morning?" he asked it. "I bet your head feels as if they were holding the Battle of the Marne inside."

"It does not!"

"It should. You ought to have a whale of a hangover."

"I have. But you didn't name a bad enough battle! Say, Jock?"

"What ho?"

"Can I call you Jock?"

"For cryin' out loud what else would you call me?"

"Well, I didn't know. Your behavior toward me is sort of Mister-Hamill-ish. Anyway: Yvonne says to tell you to take me somewhere to breakfast."

"I'll take you both, of course."

"Yvonne says she doesn't want any breakfast."

"What's the matter with her?" Jock interrogated, alarmed.

"She says she's tired. She says I kept her awake all night, talking in my sleep. About you."

"Now I know she's kidding! Tell her I'll be over