“Where’s the car?” he asked impatiently. “I’d better stay a while.”
Harvey, when they found him packed down in the back seat of his auto, was very jovial, and if he objected to Blake’s presence he at least gave no indication of it. He was very insistent upon sharing his bottle.
Blake still held out. “I don’t like the taste, really.”
“He’s got to keep his wits about him tonight,” Gin explained, and patted his shoulder affectionately. “Don’t you make him take anything if he doesn’t want to. He’s saving himself for a little girl back there who’s waiting for a dance. You ought to see her, and the way she looks at him!” She laughed heartily. “Blake’s been carrying on behind our backs, that’s what the trouble is. Carrying on!”
“Oh, stop it. Do you really think I ought to go back and dance?”
“Ought to? How do I know what you’ve been doing with her? You won’t get home alive if you don’t, if that’s what you mean.”
He sighed unhappily. “Give me a drink,” he asked pleadingly, and Harvey shouted with laughter.
He pounded Blake on the back as he handed him the little cup. “That’s the boy. He’s all right, he is. I used to think Blake was just a sissy, but he’s all right. One of the boys.”
“Of course he’s all right,” said Gin. “I always told you he was. Now he’s turned out to be John Gilbert besides.”
“Stop giggling!” Blake flushed with rage. “You’re always giggling.”