A noisy bunch tacked out of their club late one night, and up the street. They stopped in front of an imposing residence. After considerable discussion one of them advanced and pounded on the door. A woman stuck her head out of a second-story window and demanded, none too sweetly: “What do you want?”
“Ish thish the residence of Mr. Smith?” inquired the man on the steps, with an elaborate bow.
“It is. What do you want?”
“Ish it possible I have the honor of speakin’ to Misshus Smith?”
“Yes. What do you want?”
“Dear Misshus Smith! Good Misshus Smith! Will you—hic—come down an’ pick out Mr. Smith? The resh of us want to go home.”
