“You missed it,” wheezed little Teddy Dryer at his elbow, wiping his small, bleary eyes. “Lamont’s latest from Paris—a screamer—go on, Pierre, let’s have another—hot off the stove this time, old top.”
“Go on,” shouted the rest (new stories were rare). “Encore! Encore!”
“All right,” acquiesced Lamont, leaning forward. “Here’s another,” and the group bent close in greedy expectation, eager to catch every syllable, pricking up their cocktail-ruddied ears, for it was not the sort of a tale that could be shouted to the housetops.
Another roar broke forth as he finished—a tale that would have made a scullery-maid blush to her knees.
“Oh, Lord!” they wheezed when they could get their breath. “That’s the limit.”
“Where the devil did you get that, Pierre?” choked Teddy Dryer.
“From a girl in Paris,” smiled Lamont; “a big brunette who lived back of the Moulin de la Galette. Best-hearted girl you ever met. She said it was a fact; that it happened to her.”
Enoch’s jaw stiffened, but he did not open his lips.
A clean tray with nine half-frozen Martinis arrived. The table, relieved of its stale litter of drained glasses, became again the centre of thirsty interest, and the talk drifted on into past and present scandal, in which the varied vicissitudes of those who had been unfortunate enough to marry were freely discussed; at length a circle of old friends were touched upon with a certain loyal camaraderie, and their womanly virtues extolled. Enoch was enlightened to the fact that they were all “thoroughbreds” and the “salt of the earth.” Some of them were exceedingly handsome, others still pretty—nearly all of them, he learned, had cleverly managed to be freed from the bond of matrimony, looking none the worse for the experience, with a snug fortune as a comforting recompense. There were incidentally a few children among them as an annoying hinderance to the freedom their mammas had paid so dearly for, but as long as there were governesses in the world and fashionable boarding-schools with short vacations, things were not as bad as they might be.
The talk grew deeper, more confidential, and so low in tone that the listening waiter caught next to nothing. He had, however, two new stories for the barman, and should have been content.