"Oh, let him wait," said Foulkes. "Come along for ten minutes to the Stage Club."
They went to the Stage Club. Then, the place being empty and little amusement to be found there, they departed, Foulkes declaring his determination to see Bobby part of the way home.
Passing a large entrance hall blazing with light and filled with the noise of a distant band, Foulkes stopped.
"Come in here for a moment," said he. In they went.
The place was gay—very gay. Little marble-topped tables stood about; French waiters running from table to table and serving guests—ladies and gentlemen.
At a long glittering bar many men were standing, and a Red Hungarian Band was discoursing scarlet music.
Foulkes took a table and ordered refreshment. The place was horrid. One could not tell exactly what there was about it that went counter to all the finer feelings and the sense of home, simplicity, and happiness.
Bobby, rather depressed, felt this, but Foulkes, a man of tougher fibre, seemed quite happy.
"What ails you, Ravenshaw?" asked Foulkes.