There he encountered a cheering spectacle. Margery was seated at the table between a coffee percolator, efficiently bubbling, and an electric toaster. She was buttering hot toast. Jennie sat at one side of the table. A pale blue kimono now covered her dancing costume, and she looked quite demure. She raised her eyes almost shyly as Merriam entered.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "This is grand. Margery, you certainly are a trump!"
Margery's rather sallow cheeks flushed slightly. "You'll need it," was all she said, and proceeded to fill a cup for him from the percolator.
"How do I get away?" Merriam asked as he sipped.
"Back stairs," said Margery succinctly. "I'll show you."
Munching toast, he enquired the whereabouts of the nearest Elevated station and was duly instructed.
He had a second cup of the black coffee. Margery did not take any and would not give Jennie any.
"We go straight to bed," she said decidedly.
From time to time Merriam cast an unwilling glance at Jennie, sitting downcast and out of it on Margery's other side. About the third time Jennie intercepted his glance and answered it with a small wistful smile. After that he would not look again. In a few minutes, of course, this very early breakfast--it was somewhere around two o'clock--was over, and Merriam rose.
"I must be off," he said, and hesitated. "I am very much indebted to both of you for--all the help you have given me this evening!" (Inwardly he abused himself for his stiltedness; it was like his telling Mollie June he was glad to have helped her in algebra.)