"Crazy--drunk? Pshaw, you're batty!" he said to the frump rudely. Then I heard another murmur and his harsh voice rose again: "Yes--Lightnut, I tell you--Dicky Lightnut. Yes--Jack Billings' great friend. You just wait till he's back from the city, and if he don't get upon his hind--Eh, what? His name is _Smith_? Rats!" All this time I was just standing there, trying to catch Frances' eye. I felt sure if I could catch her eye she would see how devilish sorry I was. I moved back a few feet, for, dash it, without a sign from her, I had no idea now, of course, of considering myself as one of the party. Not finding Billings with the car, and the information I caught that he was still in the city, just left me high and dry, you know. "All right, Miss Smarty," the yellow-topped chauffeur rasped, addressing the frump, "I'll just show you!" He turned about and jerked his head. "Oh, Dicky! Here, just a minute, old chap--will you?" Of course I took no notice of him whatever. In fact I looked in the other direction. "Lightnut!" he called. I just stared up at the castle on the hill. I felt devilish annoyed, though. I recalled a conversation the other day at the club in which Van Dyne remarked that the intimacy affected now by chauffeurs was growing insufferable. Declared his man had asked him for a light that morning. The fellow stared a little; then he came toward me, smirking in a jocular, impertinent way. "Say, stop your kidding, old man," he muttered; "girls have no sense of humor, you know. Come along--I've just been telling them you are my best friend." I stole another look at the car, but Frances avoided me; so I came to a decision. I turned shortly on the driver. "See here now, my good fellow," I said sharply, "you stop subjecting those ladies to annoyance. Drive on, or I'll report you to my friends." He stared--seemed to be trying to stare me out of countenance, in fact. Then the grin slowly faded. "Why, Dicky!" he exclaimed in an aggrieved tone, "don't you remember me--don't you know me?" "I certainly do not," I answered with decision. I felt my face getting red with vexation. "And what's more, my name is not 'Dicky.'" His hand slowly swept his chin and he whistled. "Wha--Well, I'll be jiggered!" He whirled toward the car. "On me, this time, I guess! You're right!" Then his face clouded and he moved down upon me. "Here, you get along now about your business, whoever you are!" His hand waved as though sweeping me away. "I've a mind to kick you for annoying that young lady." He looked toward Frances and I could see he was showing off. But I thought she looked a bit disgusted. As for the frump, she suddenly opened the door, stepped down and then up again, but this time behind the steering wheel. "If you don't come on, I'm going," she said quietly. "Just a minute," he said, scowling back at her. He faced me. "Look here, if I hit you once"--he leveled his finger--"well, they'll have to pick you up with a sponge, that's all!"