§ 131 How Larry Boosted the Game
“Larry,” said the young man with the slicked-back hair. “I want you to do me a big favor. I’ve just met a girl who’s visiting here and I’ve fallen for her strong. Now, I want to let her get the impression that I’m well-to-do. In fact, I don’t care if she goes so far as to think I’m wealthy, but I don’t want to do too much bragging in front of her. So that’s where you fit in.”
“How do I fit in?” inquired Larry, who was by way of being rather a rugged and untutored person.
“Easy enough,” said the conspirator. “Tomorrow I’ve got a date to buy her a lunch at the Claridge. You drop in there as if by accident. I’ll hail you and call you over to our table and introduce you to Miss Ferguson—that’s her name, Gertrude Ferguson—and insist on you sitting down with us. Then I’ll start in to talking about myself. I’ll be sort of backward and diffident in referring to my own possessions but every time I mention anything that belongs to me that’ll be your cue to interrupt and go the limit, swelling me. That’s it, you boost and boost and keep on boosting until you make her believe that I’m a millionaire and all the time I’ll be getting credit in her mind for modesty.”
“I get you,” said Larry. “Leave it to me.”
The scene shifts to the following afternoon at Claridge’s. The well-meaning Larry appeared. The chief plotter called him across the restaurant and he was duly presented to Miss Ferguson and by invitation took a seat. His friend took up the thread of his narrative.
“I was just saying to Miss Ferguson,” he explained, “that last Sunday I was out at my little place in the country....”
“Place in the country,—huh!” broke in Larry. “Listen to that, will you, lady, he calls it a place in the country. It’s an estate, that’s what it is—a regular estate, that’s all.”
The suitor smiled tolerantly and went on.
“Well, anyhow,” he resumed, “I was out there at my shack....”
“Ain’t that just like you?” proclaimed Larry. “Shack, huh? It’s a palace, that’s all—a palace, I’ll tell the world.”
“No matter, old man,” continued his friend. “What I was going to say was that I called the maid, and I told her....”
“You called the maid?” clarioned the co-conspirator. “Why don’t you say you called one of the maids. Near as I remember, you’ve got five or six maids hanging ’round that palace, not to mention a couple of butlers.”
“Have it your own way, old chap,” resumed the slick-haired one. “I called one of the maids, if you prefer to put it that way, and I told her to bring me some burnt sugar and some hot water and a little whiskey. You see, I’ve got a cold——”
“Cold?” whooped Larry. “Listen, lady, do you hear this guy sayin’ he’s got a cold? What he’s really got is the gallopin’ consumption!”