At last it was over. The two chief dancers fell, having carefully pretended to stab each other with long thin swords, and were assisted out by helpful hands. The dance and the dinner were ended.
“I’m all bogged down,” said the youngest reporter. “I’ve a notion to go home and go to bed.”
“What, and miss seeing the Tea House of a Thousand Flowers?” asked the star. “You can’t do that. Come on, little one! Don’t let’s forsake Captain Ellison.”
“I’m the quitter,” said David. “The chief told me off to go and bring Miss Hammond over to see the Geishas. I must beat it.”
When Dulcie came down in the elevator and stepped into the bright light of the lobby, David involuntarily exclaimed at her fresh beauty.
“Good Lord, woman, what have you done to yourself? You look as new as paint.”
“Some of it is paint, of course,” said Dulcie, “but I’ve had a nap, and I’ve had good care.”
“I’m like to drop in my tracks,” said David, “and your father—well, I caught him sneaking a powder into his glass somewhere about the middle of the nineteenth course.”
“Bicarb—I hope it fixed him.”
“If it didn’t, that dinner will,” groaned David. “I’ll bet they had three chefs—Japanese, American, and French—to fix that dinner. The Japanese camouflage things so you don’t know what you are eating. I thought I was taking a dandy baked apple. It had red cheeks, and a fresh stem sticking out with a real apple leaf on it. And by George, it was mashed potato! Everything like that.