He'd already called Sister on the long distance telephone and told her not to wait up for him, explainin' just what it was we was workin' on and how we might not be through until quite late. And Sister had advised him to be sure to wear his silk muffler and not to sleep past his station if he had to take the 11:48 out. "Gosh, Ernie!" says I. "If you 're that way now what'll you be when you're married?" "But I hadn't thought of getting married," says he. "Really!" "Yes," says I, "and you silent, thoughtless boys are the very ones who jump into matrimony unexpected. Some evenin' you'll meet just the right babidoll and the next thing we know you'll be sendin' us at home cards. You act innocent enough in public, but I'll bet you're a bear when it comes to workin' up to a quick clinch behind the palms." Ernie almost gasps with horror at the thought. "Oh, I wouldn't put it past you," says I. "I expect, though, you'd like to have me class you among the great unkissed?" "As a matter of fact," says Ernie solemn, "I have never--Well, not since I was a mere boy, at least. It--it's just happened so." "And you past thirty!" says I. "What a long spell to be out of luck!" So I suggests that we work through until about 7:45 and then hit the Regal roof for a $2 feed and a view of some of this fancy skatin' they're pullin' off there. But that ain't Ernie's plan at all. He has his mouth all set for an oyster stew and a plate of crullers down in the Arcade beanerie. "Ah, forget your old automatic habits for once," says I. "This dinner is on the house, you know, so why not make it a reg'lar one? Come along." And for a wonder I persuades him to do it. I expect this idea of chargin' it on the expense account hadn't occurred to him. Anyway, that's how it come we were piking through West Forty-fifth Street with the first of the theater crowds, Ernie still protestin' that he really didn't care for this sort of thing--cabaret stunts and all that--and me kiddin' him along as usual, sayin' I'll bet the head waiter would call him by his first name, when the net is cast sudden over Ernie's head. I don't know which one of us saw her first. All I'm sure of is that we both sort of slowed up and did the gawp act. You could hardly blame us, for here in a taxi by the curb is--Well, it would take Robert Chambers a page and a half at twenty cents a word to do her full justice, so I'll just say she was a lovely lady. No, I ain't gettin' her mixed with any of Mr. Ziegfeld's stars, nor she ain't any broker's bride plucked from the switch-board. She's the real thing in the lady line, though how I knew it's hard to tell. Also she's a home-grown siren that works without the aid of a lip-stick, permanent wave, or an eyebrow pencil. Anyway, here she is leaning through the taxi door and shootin' over the alluring smile.