Don't go in for this sort of thing, or your good fortune will prove a curse in disguise." Steve hung his head, muttering something incoherent about not being used to wine and that he'd soon get over it.
"Oh, young men _will_ be young men, I suppose," sighed Mitchell tolerantly.

"Tell you what.

Archibald's going for a spin over to East New York.

I'll just 'phone him to drop by on his way and take us along.

Fresh air'll do you good." Steve assented, and fell to poring over the immense wall map of New York with preternatural gravity.
But Mitchell's benevolent plan was doomed to be frustrated.