“You have heard of him?” asked Elaine.
“Who hasn’t?” said Wilfred.
Joe swept in. “Hello, Elaine!”
She had risen, and was helping herself to a fresh cigarette from the mantelpiece. “Hello, Joe,” she said, without looking around.
Having caught sight of Wilfred, Joe stopped short in his eager progress.
“This is Mr. Pell,” drawled Elaine. “. . . Mr. Kaplan.”
Joe jerked into motion again. “I know him,” he said. “Hello, Pell! What the devil are you doing here?”
It was said with a good-humored grin, though Joe’s eyes were snapping. To Wilfred’s relief, he did not put out his hand. Perceiving enmity, Wilfred had not sufficient self-command to match the feigned good humor. Inside him there was howling, black confusion. Yet the necessity of good form was strong upon him, too. All he could do was to stand grinning in a sickly way. How craven he must appear, knuckling under to Joe at the first word!
Joe wasted no time on him. Elaine had reseated herself, and he plumped into the chair that Wilfred had lately occupied. “I say, Elaine,” he said; “I saw that blue chow to-day. He’s a sweet-tempered little beast; but my man says if you want to show him, he’s not good enough. So I thought we had better wait until something first-class turned up.”
“But I liked him,” said Elaine. “And he liked me!”