After the act Butler suggested a drink, which was declined.
“I don’t drink,” explained Harvey.
His companion snorted. “I’d like to know what kind of a supper we’re going to have if you don’t drink. Be a sport!”
“Oh, don’t you worry about that,” said Harvey. “Ginger ale livens me up as much as anything. I used to simply pour the liquor down me. I had to give it up. It was getting the best of me. You should have seen the way I was carrying on out there in Blakeville before––”
“Well, come out and watch me take a drink,” interrupted Butler, wearily. “It may brace you up.”
Harvey looked helplessly at the three ladies over whom they would have to climb in order to reach the aisle and shook his head.
“We’re going out after the next act. Let’s wait till then.”
“Give me my seat check,” said Butler, 54 shortly. “I’m going out.” Receiving the check, he trampled his way out, leaving Harvey to ruminate alone.
The joint presence of these two gentlemen of Tarrytown in the city requires an explanation. You may remember that Nellie’s husband resented Butler’s habit of ignoring him. Well, there had come a time when Butler had thought it advisable to get down from his high horse. His wife had gone to Cleveland to visit her mother for a week or two. It was a capital time for him to get better acquainted with Miss Duluth, to whom he had been in the habit of merely doffing his hat in passing.
The morning of his wife’s departure, which was no more than eight hours prior to their appearance at the box office, he made it a point to hail Harvey in a most jovial manner as he stood on his side porch, suggesting that he come over and see the playroom he had fixed up for his children and Phoebe.