We made an appointment to meet Ikey at his "studio" for our first lesson the following afternoon. Then we hiked for home on the 4.14, well pleased with our investment and its promise of golden returns. That night Bunch and Alice were over to our place for dinner. After dinner Bunch and I sat down by the log fire in the Dutch room, filled our faces with Havana panatellas, and proceeded to enjoy life in silence. Into the next room came Alice and Peaches and sat down for their usual cackle. Bunch and I started from our reveries when we heard Alice say to Peaches, "You don't know what a source of comfort it has been to me to realize that Bunch doesn't know a blessed thing about the Tango or any of those hatefully intimate new dances!" "The same with me, Alice," friend wife chirped in. "I believe if John were to suddenly display the ability to dance the Tango I'd be broken-hearted. Naturally, I'd know that he must have learned it with a wicked companion in some lawless cabaret. And if he frequented cabarets without my knowledge--oh, Alice, what _would_ I do?" I looked at Bunch, he looked at me, and then we both looked out the window. "For my part," Alice went on, "I trust Bunch so implicitly that I don't even question his motive when he telephones me he has to take dinner in town with a prospective real estate customer." "And I know enough of human nature," Peaches gurgled, "to be sure that if either one of them could Tango he would be crazy to show off at home. I think we're very lucky, both of us, to have such steady-going husbands, don't you, Alice?" At this point Aunt Martha buzzed into the other room and the cackle took on another complexion. In the meantime Bunch and I had passed away. "It's cold turkey," I whispered. "I've been in the refrigerator for ten minutes and I'm chilled to the bone," Bunch whispered back. "Can we get our coin away from Ikey?" I asked. "We can try," Bunch sneezed. The next afternoon we had Ikey Schwartz for luncheon with us at the St. Astorbilt. The idea being to dazzle him and get a few of the iron men back. "Leave everything to me," Bunch growled as we shaved our hats and Indian-filed to a trough. "A quart of Happysuds," Bunch ordered. "How about it, Ikey?" Ikey flashed a grin and tried to swallow his palate, so it wouldn't interfere with the wet spell suggested by Bunch. Ikey belonged to the "dis, dose and dem" push. Every long sentence he uttered was full of splintered grammar. Every time Ikey opened his word-chest the King's English screamed for help, and literature got a kick in the slats. He was short and thin, but it was a deceptive thinness. His capacity for storing away free liquids was awe-inspiring and a sin. I think Ikey must have been hollow from the neck to the ankles, with emergency bulkheads in both feet.