“Mr. Storrs,” Constance supplied.
“Oh, of course! Mr. Storrs—Mr. Thomas and Mr. Whitford!”
Bruce had heard much of Whitford at the University Club, where he was one of the most popular members. He had won fame as an athlete in college and was a polo player of repute. A cosmopolitan by nature, he had traveled extensively and in the Great War had won honorable distinction. Having inherited money he was able to follow his own bent. It was whispered that he entertained literary ambitions. He was one of the chief luminaries of the Dramatic Club, coached the players and had produced several one-act plays of his own that had the flavor of reality. He was of medium height and looked the soldier and athlete. Women had done much to spoil him, but in spite of his preoccupation with society, men continued to like George, who was a thoroughly good fellow and a clean sportsman.
Whitford entered at once into a colloquy with Constance. Thomas, having expressed his pleasure at meeting Bruce, was explaining to Mrs. Torrence how he and Whitford had met Leila downtown.
“Liar!” exclaimed Leila, who was pouring herself a drink. “You did nothing of the kind. We met at the Burtons’ and Nellie gave us a little drink—just a tweeney, stingy little drink.”
The drink she held up for purposes of illustration was not infinitesimal. Mrs. Torrence said that everyone must have a highball and proceeded to prepare a drink for Thomas and Whitford.
“You and Connie are certainly the solemn owls,” she remarked to Bruce. “Anyone would have thought you were holding a funeral in here. Say when, Fred. This is real Bourbon that Jim had for years. You’ll never see anything like it.”
“Bruce,” cried Henderson, “has Connie filled you with gloom? She gets that way sometimes, but it doesn’t mean anything. A little of this stuff will set you up. This bird, Storrs, always did have glass legs,” he explained to Thomas; “he can drink gallons and be ready to converse with bishops. Never saw such a capacity! If I get a few more Maybelle will certainly hand it to me when I get home.”
Constance walked round the table to Leila, who had drunk a glass of the Bourbon to sample it and, satisfied of its quality, was now preparing a highball.
“No more, Leila!” said Constance, in a low tone. The girl drew back defiantly.