Butler muttered something that sounded uncommonly like “confounded ass,” and began fanning himself with his derby hat and gloves and walking-stick, all of which happened to be in the same hand.
“We’re going to take Nellie—I mean Miss Duluth—out for supper after the play,” went 66 on Harvey, glibly. “We’ll be waiting for you, dearie. Mr. Butler is doing the honours. By the way, Butler, I think it would be nicer if Nellie could suggest an odd lady for us. We ought to have four. Do you know of any one, Nell? By George, we’ve got to have a pretty one, though. We insist on that, eh, Butler?” He jabbed Butler in the ribs and winked.
“Don’t do that!” said the unhappy Mr. Butler, dropping his stick. It rolled under a table and he seized the opportunity thus providentially presented. He went down after it and was lost to view for a considerable length, of time, hiding himself as the ostrich does when it buries its head in the sand and imagines it is completely out of sight.
Nellie’s wits were returning. She was obliged to do some rapid and clever thinking. Fairfax was watching her with a sardonic smile on his lips. Ripton, the manager, peered over his shoulder and winked violently.
“Oh, Harvey dear,” she cried, plaintively, “how disappointed I am. I have had strict orders from the doctor to go straight home to bed after every performance. I really can’t go with you and Mr. Butler to-night. I wish you had .gn +1 telephoned or something. I could have told you.” 67
Harvey looked distressed. “What does the doctor say it is?”
Fairfax was sitting on a trunk, a satisfied smile on his lips
“My heart,” she said, solemnly.