LOLA ACCEPTS THE CHAPERONAGE OF MRS. HARLAN.
“I’m sick of the game, Madge,” responded Dick moodily, “and I guess I’m off my feed to-night. I feel rotten! You folks start a poker game, if you want to, I’m going to sit around for a while.”
“He’s in love, that’s the matter with him,” said one of the girls. “It’s that pretty little blond he’s been rushing lately. What’s the trouble, Dick, did she pass you up?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dick answered, rather a nasty look coming into his eyes. “You’re all right, Nellie, but you spend so much of your time talking that you never seem to say anything.”
“Better let up on him, folks,” Mrs. Harlan observed mildly. “Dick knows what he is about, and it’s still pretty good dope to learn to mind your own business.”
Conversations started along these lines have, in society of this elevated description, been known to break up the party, occasionally known to have led to the breaking of more tangible things, but a sharp ring at the bell interrupted them, and Brooks left the room quietly to admit the late visitor.
“I wonder who that is?” questioned Mrs. Harlan. “I hope it’s Bob Nelson. Bob’s not much of a talker, but he’s a real sport, and if we don’t get some one to throw out a life-line pretty quick, this party is going to turn out punker than the show was.”
Brooks entered and, crossing to Fenway, announced in a low voice: “A lady to see you, sir.”
“Who is she?”
“She wouldn’t give her name, sir; said she wanted to see you, and if you weren’t at home she’d wait.”