“Oh, Mr. Cade, was that an old friend of yours?”
“It was, Miss Taylor. One of the friends of my blameless youth.”
Miss Taylor giggled.
“I thought he was such an interesting-looking man.”
“I’ll tell him you said so.”
“Oh, Mr. Cade, how can you be so naughty! The very idea! What was that name he called you?”
“Gentleman Joe?”
“Yes. Is your name Joe?”
“I thought you knew it was Anthony, Miss Taylor.”
“Oh, go on with you!” cried Miss Taylor coquettishly.
Anthony had by now well mastered his duties. In addition to making the necessary arrangements of travel, they included soothing down irritable old gentlemen when their dignity was ruffled, seeing that elderly matrons had ample opportunities to buy picture postcards, and flirting with everything under a catholic forty years of age. The last task was rendered easier for him by the extreme readiness of the ladies in question to read a tender meaning into his most innocent remarks.
Miss Taylor returned to the attack.
“Why does he call you Joe, then?”
“Oh, just because it isn’t my name.”
“And why Gentleman Joe?”
“The same kind of reason.”