"Don't lose your temper, dad. I apologize for keeping you waiting. Don't let me keep you any longer."
Mr. Van Pycke looked his son over very carefully. A pained expression came into his face.
"Bosworth, I am sorry to see you in this condition. It grieves me beyond measure. You have never--"
"It's an awful night, isn't it, dad? Can't I give you a lift in my taxicab? I see you've got on your overcoat and hat." Bosworth was moving toward the clubhouse entrance. The old gentleman resolutely kept pace with him.
"That's just what I meant to ask you," said he, with some celerity. "I--I can't get a cab of any sort for love or money. It's generous--"
"You can't get much of anything for love in these days, dad, except love."
Mr. Van Pycke pondered this while Bosworth got into his coat and hat.
"Dad, I 'm celebrating," said his son, halting just inside the door.
Mr. Van Pycke dropped the glove he was pulling on. He went very white, except for his nose. That seemed redder by contrast.
"Not--not a chorus girl?" he stammered, his hand shaking as he raised it to his brow.
"No, dad. Not yet. I expect to marry some one else first. I'll save the other for a rainy day."
"That, sir, is still a matter of conjecture. I haven't quite got down to the point of selecting--"
"You insufferable booby," roared his father. "You gave me a--a dreadful shock, sir! Never do that again."
"I thought you'd like to know, sir," said Bosworth, politely. He winked gravely at a mahogany doorpost, and motioned for his father to precede him through the storm doors.
"By the way," muttered his father, obstructing the way, as if recalling something he had forgotten to attend to inside the club, "would you mind lending me fifty for a couple of days? I meant to speak to you about it in--"
"Will ten do, dad? It's all I have with me, except a tip for the driver. We mustn't forget the driver on a night like this." Bosworth was feeling in his trousers pocket, no sign of resentment in his face.
"I dare say I can borrow forty from Stone," said the other, readily. "No," he went on, after he had pocketed the crumpled bank note and was fastening his baby lamb collar close up to his shrivelled throat; "no, we can't forget the driver on a night like this. You really won't mind dropping me up town, will you, Bosworth? I don't mind walking if you'd rather not."