"They've got him into a game down at Mr. Feld's--the owner of the theater, hee, hee--and he couldn't well refuse, or at least--"
"Oh, Tommy, please--I don't understand."
"Just a little game of draw."
"Cards?"
"Yes--poker."
This did not strike Phyllis as anything very terrible.
"And he sent you to tell me he would be late?" she inquired, much reassured.
Tommy lied manfully. As a matter of fact he had invented the message--and the errand--to shield Adair, who had forgotten everything in the absorption of the game. "Yes," he said, "he can't manage to be back to supper with you, and is awful sorry about it, and hopes you won't mind." Though Tommy could lie, he could not act. His anxiety was obvious; he wriggled uncomfortably; and his silly, convulsive smile presaged some disagreeable revelation. Phyllis, now thoroughly alarmed, and with characteristic directness went straight for the truth.
"Tommy, has he been drinking?"
"Oh, ah, well, hee, hee--yes, he has."