inordinately proud, for he had stuck his feet up ostentatiously
on the seat opposite. His eyes followed my glance toward his shoes.

"For the fox-trot," he said. "The old ones were no good. Have a
cigarette? These are Armenian, or would you prefer a Honolulan or a
Nigerian? Now," he resumed, when we had lighted our cigarettes, "what
would you like to do first? Dance the tango? Hear some Hawaiian music,
drink cocktails, or what?"

"Why, what I should like most of all, Father Knickerbocker--"

But he interrupted me.

"There's a devilish fine woman! Look, the tall blonde one! Give me
blondes every time!" Here he smacked his lips. "By gad, sir, the women
in this town seem to get finer every century. What were you saying?"

"Why, Father Knickerbocker," I began, but he interrupted me again.

"My dear fellow," he said. "May I ask you not to call me _Father_
Knickerbocker?"

"But I thought you were so old," I said humbly.

"Old! Me _old_! Oh, I don't know. Why, dash it, there are plenty of men
as old as I am dancing the tango here every night. Pray call me, if you
don't mind, just Knickerbocker, or simply Knicky--most of the other boys
call me Knicky. Now what's it to be?"

"Most of all," I said, "I should like to go to some quiet place and have
a talk about the old days."

"Right," he said. "We're going to just the place now--nice quiet dinner,
a good quiet orchestra, Hawaiian, but quiet, and lots of women." Here
he smacked his lips again, and nudged me with his elbow. "Lots of women,
bunches of them. Do you like women?"

"Why, Mr. Knickerbocker," I said hesitatingly, "I suppose--I--"

The old man sniggered as he poked me again in the ribs.

"You bet you do, you dog!" he chuckled. "We _all_ do. For me, I confess
it, sir, I can't sit down to dinner without plenty of women, stacks of
them, all round me."

Meantime the taxi had stopped. I was about to open the door and get out.

"Wait, wait," said Father Knickerbocker, his hand upon my arm, as he
looked out of the window. "I'll see somebody in a minute who'll let us
out for fifty cents. None of us here ever gets in or out of anything by
ourselves. It's bad form. Ah, here he is!"

A moment later we had passed through the portals of a great restaurant,
and found ourselves surrounded with all the colour and tumult of a New
York dinner _a la mode_. A burst of wild music, pounded and thrummed
out on ukuleles by a group of yellow men in Hawaiian costume, filled the
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