"But I can't dance the Caramanne," objected the girl on his right.
"And I wouldn't dance it in public," said the girl on his left.
"Well, we all know someone who can and will," laughed Cliff. He led them to Downing's table, shook hands with Stellor and underwent a ten-second grip-trying match. He introduced them all around and then asked: "Downing, may I steal her for a moment? I think she's the only one present that can hang on while I take care of the Caramanne."
"For a moment," said Downing.
The four men in tuxedos blinked and shook their heads. The manager took a quick, very short drink. It was a draft of sheer relief.
The pulse-beating rhythm of the native dance of Venus started with rapid tomtom, and then carried up into the other instruments. With the floor to themselves, Cliff and Patricia covered most of it in the whirling, quick-step.
"A fine specimen of fidelity you'd make," she laughed.
"Well, you were busy. I had to do something."
"You seem to do all right. They're both rather special."