As I went downstairs I heard Bill singing, “Irony and Pity. When you’re feeling⁠ ⁠… Oh, Give them Irony and Give them Pity. Oh, give them Irony. When they’re feeling⁠ ⁠… Just a little irony. Just a little pity⁠ ⁠…” He kept on singing until he came downstairs. The tune was: “ The Bells Are Ringing for Me and My Gal .” I was reading a week-old Spanish paper.

“What’s all this irony and pity?”

“What? Don’t you know about Irony and Pity?”

“No. Who got it up?”

“Everybody. They’re mad about it in New York. It’s just like the Fratellinis used to be.”

The girl came in with the coffee and buttered toast. Or, rather, it was bread toasted and buttered.

“Ask her if she’s got any jam,” Bill said. “Be ironical with her.”

“Have you got any jam?”