"
"No. He was all right."
"Then what _is_ worrying you?"
"Oh--nothing. Good ni--"
"You _are_ going off angry. _Aren't_ you?"
"No, but--oh, there ain't any use of our--of me being--
_Is_ there?"
"N-no--"
"Matisse--the guy you just spoke about--and these artists here
tonight in bobtail dress-suits--I wouldn't know when to wear one
of them things, and when a swallow-tail--if I had one, even--or
when a Prince Albert or--"
"Oh, not a Prince Albert, Mouse dear. Say, a frock-coat."
"Sure. That's what I mean. It's like that Matisse guy. I
don't know about none of the things you're interested in. While
you've been away from Mrs. Arty's--Lord, I've missed you so! But
when I try to train with your bunch, or when you spring Matisse"
(he seemed peculiarly to resent the unfortunate French artist)
"on me I sort of get onto myself--and now it ain't like it was
in England; I've got a bunch of my own I can chase around with.
Anyway, I got onto myself tonight. I s'pose it's partly because
I been thinking you didn't care much for _my_ friends.
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