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Dick: (Fixing Anthony eagerly with the bright eye) What’d you say? Tell me and I’ll write it down. Cut three thousand words out of Part One this afternoon.

Maury: Noble aesthete. And I poured alcohol into my stomach.

Dick: I don’t doubt it. I bet you two have been sitting here for an hour talking about liquor.

Anthony: We never pass out, my beardless boy.

Maury: We never go home with ladies we meet when we’re lit.

Anthony: All in our parties are characterized by a certain haughty distinction.

Dick: The particularly silly sort who boast about being “tanks”! Trouble is you’re both in the eighteenth century. School of the Old English Squire. Drink quietly until you roll under the table. Never have a good time. Oh, no, that isn’t done at all.

Anthony: This from Chapter Six, I’ll bet.

Dick: Going to the theatre?

Maury: Yes. We intend to spend the evening doing some deep thinking over of life’s problems. The thing is tersely called “The Woman.” I presume that she will “pay.”

Anthony: My God! Is that what it is? Let’s go to the Follies again.