Nor was it a temporary interest. With increasing frequency she laughed aloud. The man on her right joined her. Judith was amazed. She studied Good constantly, not overlooking the fact that his cocktail was untasted. She strained her ears to catch something of what he was saying, but his voice was low, and he seemed to be talking to Molly almost confidentially. Finally, at a particularly uproarious bit of hilarity, she gave way to her curiosity.
"What on earth are you talking about?" she demanded, when a lull in the conversation enabled her to be heard.
"Oh," he said, "I was just telling Miss Wolcott about a ball game I pitched in the Philippines. We were playing the 17th Infantry and they got me full of nepal. I did some curious things," he added reflectively.
"Were you ever in the army?" she asked in amazement.
"Seven years," he answered. "Enough to be a corporal."
Then he turned back to Molly, and Judith was silent. Would she ever get to the end of his life and the things into which it had led him? She wanted to ask him more, but he was too obviously engrossed in his companion, and as the duties of her own position required attention, she had no further conversation with him.
But as the meal progressed, and the sherry followed the cocktails, and the claret followed the sherry, and the champagne followed the claret, the conversation began to centre more and more around Good. It became almost a monologue, as he talked and they listened.
Judith was mostly silent, in sheer amazement, although occasionally she could not resist a smile at his drolleries. And when he told stories, she laughed with the rest. He possessed a remarkable faculty for imitation, and the characters in his stories required no "he said" to identify them. His voice and manner changed for each one.
Once, in a pause, she interrupted him.
"You ought to be on the stage," she cried admiringly.