“I want to ask you three questions, Rhoda,” said Edward, who was not slow to notice that Miss Romero, after greeting him with automatic cordiality, managed to suggest irritation by the set of her shoulders as she bent over four nearly fried eggs. “Surely, Edward,” agreed Miss Romero. “I’m good and busy, but go right ahead. Put your questions snappily, though, A, B, and C.” “A,” said Edward obediently, “I want to come with you to Yosemite. In fact, Rhoda, please, I must come with you to Yosemite.” “Dear Edward, why can’t you go when and where you’re wanted? Why do you have to do things so damned intensely and unlike other folks?” “I’m never wanted.” “Shucks.” “The Britisher,” said Mr. Bird, “always has to try and act unlike other folks—that’s the only way he can remind us crude Colonials of his superiority. The Britisher is like a bull moose in carpet slippers sneezing at a poppy——” “The American,” said Edward, mildly aroused, “takes a good deal of trouble to be eccentric too. Look at all these Cults and what not.... As a Britisher I should say that eccentric Britishers are fantastic; eccentric Americans are grotesque....” “Well, for goodness’ sake, Edward Williams,” exclaimed Rhoda, “what’s eating you? You didn’t invent that dope. You stole it some place. Who’s been injecting aphorisms into you?” “Emily,” replied Edward honestly. “She said it on the Ferry.” This suggestion of criticism by two aliens at once caught Mr. Bird’s attention. “The Britisher,” he said, “is the most complacent creature on God’s earth——” “Poor thing,” interrupted Rhoda, who, having been born in the United States, was not obliged to be so ecstatically American as was Mr. Bird, who originally came from Odessa. “In the presence of God’s own countrymen he just has to keep his end up some way. Do you like your fried eggs straight up or turned, British biped? Well, pass on to B.” “B,” said Edward. “Will you let me off going to China?” “But it’s all fixed up,” replied Rhoda. “And Melsie Stone Ponting wants you to take her kiddie across to his father in Shanghai. The father was awarded custody in the courts, but somehow she’s never gotten around to sending the boy. He’s so full of pep she thinks he’ll fall into the ocean or get knitted up with the engine the first day out.” “I can’t go,” said Edward. “I’ve got a job.” “You got a job between twelve and seven A. M.?” exclaimed Rhoda. “Well, say, listen, aren’t you the bright lad? What captain of industry have you picked up with in the small hours?” “He’s picked up with Emily,” said Mr. Bird. Whenever he made a statement you could see him trying to think of something smart and incomprehensible to add to it. But this time he was interrupted. “Now see here, Edward Williams,” said Miss Romero. “You can take it from me right now that there isn’t a scrap of use in your starting to rush Emily. Look at Emily.... Look at you.... Aw, shucks, Edward, you surely are—discouraging.”