“The great nerve specialist, yes. Why, do you know him?”

It was a warm day, but I shivered.

“I was engaged to his daughter for a week or two,” I said, in a hushed voice. The memory of that narrow squeak always made me feel faint.

“Has he a daughter?” said Biffy, absently.

“He has. Let me tell you all about⁠—”

“Not just now, old man,” said Biffy, getting up. “I ought to be going back to my hotel to see about my packing.”

Which, after I had listened to his story, struck me as pretty low-down. However, the longer you live, the more you realize that the good old sporting spirit of give-and-take has practically died out in our midst. So I boosted him into a cab and went off to lunch.