“Not a word of truth in that!” declared Constance. “Bud’s such a liar!”
Mrs. Torrence said they must have tea, and Henderson protested that tea was not to be thought of. Tea, he declared, was extremely distasteful to him; and Bruce always became ill at the sight of it.
“But when I told Connie you were bringing Mr. Storrs she said he was terribly proper and for me not to dare mention cocktails.”
“Now, Helen, I didn’t say just that! What I meant, of course, was that I hoped that Mr. Storrs wasn’t too proper,” said Constance.
“Proper!” Bruce caught her up. “This is an enemy’s work. Bud, I suspect you of this dastardly assault on my character!”
“Not guilty!” Bud retorted. “The main thing right now is that we’re all peevish and need martinis. What’s the Volstead signal, Helen?”
“Three rings, Bud, with a pause between the first and second.”
The tea tray was removed and reappeared adorned with all the essentials for the concoction of cocktails. When the glasses were filled and all had expressed their satisfaction at the result, Henderson detained the negro butler for a conference on dice throwing. He seated himself on the floor the better to receive the man’s instructions. The others taunted him for his inaptitude. The butler retired finally with five dollars of Bud’s money, a result attained only after the spectators were limp with laughter.
“You’re a scream, Bud! A perfect scream!” and Mrs. Torrence refilled the glasses.
She took Bud to the dining-room to exhibit a rare Japanese screen acquired in her travels, and Bruce found himself alone with Constance. She pointed to her glass, still brimming, and remarked: