Briggs shook his head. “No. I couldn’t eat now,” he said, with a scowl of exhaustion.
Helen looked alarmed. “Aren’t you well?” she asked.
“Perfectly. Don’t worry about me. I’ll take a biscuit and a glass of wine if I need anything. And if I’m elected we’ll all go out and blow ourselves to a supper.”
Fanny’s eyes shone. “At the Waldorf-Astoria? Good! We’ll have some lobster Newburg.”
Jonathan Wallace was drawing off his thick gloves. “Well, everything looks cheerful for you, they say,” he remarked to Briggs. “I met Harris, that political friend of yours, and he told me you were going to have a big majority.”
“Oh, Harris always was an optimist,” said Briggs.
“And dad made him furious,” Fanny cried. “He told him that every time a friend of his went into politics he felt like saying, ‘There’s another good man gone wrong!’ and he said that if you got completely snowed under it would be the best thing that could happen to you.”
Briggs smiled. “And what did Harris say to that?”
“He didn’t say anything. He just looked. Well, I’m going down stairs to see if I can’t get something to eat for this gentleman. I’m going to make him eat something. Think of his going without any dinner while we were gorging! Want to come and help, Guy?”
“Take too long.”