Just the thing, assented John Armstrong, and Bunny and Campaspe approved. Nobody asked Harold for his opinion of the projected excursion.
Have you got your car? Bunny demanded of Campaspe.
It should be outside.
Ki! Paul shouted.
Flurry and rush began, preparation for excitement and adventure, a swift appraisal of boxes of cigarettes. Ki poured whiskey and gin and rum into tube-containers enclosed in field-glass cases.
Hats! Hats! cried John Armstrong.
The little Jap ran about, smiling, executing commands, bearing hats, ridding the apartment of guests. They walked out into the bright sunglare of Gramercy Park. Inside the railing, a half-dozen children, watched by their nursemaids, were attempting to pretend to enjoy themselves in the little forest of shrubbery under the melancholy statue of Edwin Booth.
Have you heard about Amy? asked Paul.
Has Amy married again? Bunny queried.
That I don't know, but she smoked a cigarette in Gramercy Park the other evening and the pious trustees have taken her key away from her.
Poor Amy! Campaspe mused aloud. She doesn't understand how to enjoy her freedom. She doesn't understand her world. She wants to live her own life, as she sees us live ours, and she doesn't know how. She's always having keys taken away
