“Oh, stick around,” the Bearcat told him. “We’ll have a little weddin’ dinner and a few drinks as soon as we get settled.”

“Drinks?” Joe pricked up his ears. “Well, in that case I’ll come along.”

Babe first checked out of the Hotel Europe, then they engaged a suite at the Vandermore, a more exclusive uptown hotel.

Once in their new quarters the Bearcat became preoccupied. How was he going to break the news to Charlie? Always Charlie. Always having to worry, “What will Charlie say? What will Charlie think? What will Charlie do?” He was sick of it.

“Babe,” he said, “we got to break the news to Charlie.”

“Yeah,” Babe replied, “we got to tell him.”

Joe butted in with the comment.

“Aw, don’t worry about him. Get him on the phone and tell him to come over here. Then he can hang up on you, if he gits sore.”

The Bearcat went to the phone and called the Nelson. Charlie was in the lobby wondering why the Bearcat had not returned to the hotel the night before. He felt something was up.

“Hello—Charlie?” said the Bearcat.

“Hello,” said Charlie, “where the hell are you?”

“I’m up at the Vandermore. I want you to come over. I got somethin’ important to talk to you about.”

“All right,” Charlie agreed. He wanted to get to the bottom of this right away.

“Suite 1009,” the Bearcat informed him.

On his way to the Vandermore, Charlie pondered the situation. He had come to no conclusion when he rapped at apartment 1009.

Joe opened the door.

“You here, Malone?” Charlie snapped.

“Oh, I’m always around somewheres, Charlie,” Joe answered maliciously.

“Yeah, where there’s trouble,” Charlie said, icily.

The Bearcat stood nervously in the center of the room, Babe sat in a chair by the window, the afternoon sun lighting her face and almost too golden hair.

“Hello, Charlie,” greeted the Bearcat. He extended his hand shyly.

Charlie gripped it hard. A thin, wintry smile flickered on his features.

“Hello, Bearcat,” he said; and then he saw Babe. He thought to himself: “What’s the game now?”

“I—I want you to wish us luck, Charlie,” the Bearcat was saying.

“Hey?” inquired Charlie, uncomprehending.

“Sure, wish ’em luck, Charlie,” Joe put in. “The kids are crazy about each other. Wish ’em luck. You always was a sport.”

Babe extended her left hand to him. The sun caught the diamond and sent myriad points of light into Charlie’s eyes.

He took her hand. He saw the two rings. He could hardly believe his eyes.

Charlie went white. As he squeezed her hand, he wished to God it was her neck he was squeezing. His mind whirled. “The dirty little tart! After all my pleadin’ last week. I hate her guts!” The blood surged to his head. He sat down heavily in a chair without a word.