“But do you think it was a good stunt? After all, some of these fellows are so darn cautious and narrow-minded that they’re prejudiced against a fellow that talks right out in meeting.” “What do you care? In the long run they’re bound to respect a man who makes them think, and with your reputation for oratory you--” “What do you know about my reputation for oratory?” “Oh, I’m not going to tell you everything I know! But seriously, you don’t realize what a famous man you are.” “Well-- Though I haven’t done much orating this fall. Too kind of bothered by this Paul Riesling business, I guess. But-- Do you know, you’re the first person that’s really understood what I was getting at, Tanis-- Listen to me, will you! Fat nerve I’ve got, calling you Tanis!” “Oh, do! And shall I call you George? Don’t you think it’s awfully nice when two people have so much--what shall I call it?--so much analysis that they can discard all these stupid conventions and understand each other and become acquainted right away, like ships that pass in the night?” “I certainly do! I certainly do!” He was no longer quiescent in his chair; he wandered about the room, he dropped on the couch beside her. But as he awkwardly stretched his hand toward her fragile, immaculate fingers, she said brightly, “Do give me a cigarette. Would you think poor Tanis was dreadfully naughty if she smoked?” “Lord, no! I like it!” He had often and weightily pondered flappers smoking in Zenith restaurants, but he knew only one woman who smoked--Mrs. Sam Doppelbrau, his flighty neighbor. He ceremoniously lighted Tanis’s cigarette, looked for a place to deposit the burnt match, and dropped it into his pocket. “I’m sure you want a cigar, you poor man!” she crooned. “Do you mind one?” “Oh, no! I love the smell of a good cigar; so nice and--so nice and like a man. You’ll find an ash-tray in my bedroom, on the table beside the bed, if you don’t mind getting it.”