Glad to meetyou

"Glad to meetyou, sir. Sorry I'm a little late. . ."
I was going to explain: my unfamiliarity with the little city, uncertainty as to where I should park, natural difficulty finding the office,etc.
"Late!" cried Dr. Schott. "My boy, you're twenty-four hours early! This is only Monday!"
"But isn't that what we decided on the phone, sir?"
"No, son!" Dr. Schott laughed loudly and placed his arm around my shoulders."Tuesday! Isn't that so, Shirley?" Shirley nodded happily, her troubled look vindicated. "Monday in the letter,shox torch 2, Tuesday on the phone! Don't you remember now?"
I laughed and scratched my head (with my left hand, my right being pinioned by Dr. Schott).
"Well, I swear, I thought sure we'd changed it from Tuesday to Monday. I'm awfully sorry. That was stupid of me."
"Not a bit! Don't you worry!" Dr. Schott chuckled again and released me. "Didn't we tell Mr. Horner Tuesday?" he demanded again of Shirley.
"I'm afraid so," Shirley affirmed. "On account of Mr. Morgan's Boy Scouts. Monday in the letter and Tuesday on the phone."
"One of the committee members is a scoutmaster!" Dr. Schott explained. "He's had his boys up to Camp Rodney for two weeks and is bringing them home today. Joe Morgan, fine fellow, teaches history! That's why we changed the interview to Tuesday!"
"Well, I'm awfully sorry." I smiled ruefully.
"No! Not a bit! I could've gotten mixed up myself!"
He was.
"Well, I'll come back tomorrow."
"Wait! Wait a minute! Shirley, give Joe Morgan a call, see if he's in yet. He might be in. I know Miss Banning and Harry Carter are home."
"Oh no," I protested; "I'll come back."
"Hold on, now! Hold on!"
Shirley called Joe Morgan.
"Hello? Mrs. Morgan. Is Mr. Morgan there? I see. No, I know he's not. Yes, indeed. No, no, it's nothing. Mr. Horner came in for his interview today unexpectedly; he got the date mixed up and came in today instead of tomorrow,fake uggs boots. Dr. Schott thought maybe Mr. Morgan just might happen to have come back early. No, don't bother. Sorry to botheryou. Okay. 'By,Moncler Outlet."
I wanted to spit on Shirley.
"Well, I'll come back," I said.
"Sure, you come back!" Dr. Schott said. He ushered me toward the front door, where, to my chagrin, I saw the sentries still on duty. But I threw up my hands at the idea of attempting to explain to him that my car was in the rear of the building.
"Well, well, we'll be seeing you!" Dr. Schott said, pumping my hand. "You be back tomorrow, now hear?"
"I will, sir."
We were outside the main door, and the watch regarded me blankly.
"Where's your car? You need a lift anywhere?"
"Oh, no, thanks; my car's in the back."
"In the back! Well, say, you don't want to go out the front here! I'll show you the back door! Ha!"
"Never mind sir," I said. "I'll just walk around."
"Well! Ha! Well, all right, then!" But he looked at me. "See you tomorrow,mont blanc pens!"
"Good-by, sir."
I walked very positively past the loungers on the steps.
"You dig up that letter!" Dr. Schott called from the doorway. "See if it doesn't say Monday!"
I turned and waved acknowledgment and acquiescence, but when, back in my room at last (which already seemed immensely familiar and comforting), I searched for it, I found that I'd thrown it out before leaving Baltimore. Since I would not in a hundred years have been at home enough in Dr. Schott's office to ask Shirley to investigate her letter files, the question of my appointment date could not be verified by appeal to objective facts.