They sat down with the assistance of the others to vanquish the cold remnants and to plan a party which would complete the one that had been so rudely interrupted.
In the middle of the meal, King O’Leary, who had been singularly silent, rose without explanation, searched a moment in his trunk, which was stowed behind the second Japanese atrocity, and left the room.
He went rapidly down the hall until he had covered two-thirds of the way to Miss Sonderson’s room. Then he slowed down abruptly, hesitated, went on, listened and finally knocked. Instantly the door was half opened and the girl appeared, lifting her eyes in wonder.
“Here,” said King O’Leary, shoving forth a little package carefully wrapped and inscribed “A Merry Christmas.”
“What is it?” she said, noticing the confusion in his eyes.
“From the Christmas party last night,” he said awkwardly. “This was on the tree for you. Every one got something—please take it. And say—what I wanted to tell you is—my hat’s off to you! Honest, I think you’re a wonder!”
Before she could answer, he had actually blushed, wheeled clumsily, and gone hastily back.
VIII
One evening, the third after the party, Dangerfield came stamping into the Arcade, shaking from him the snow that lay clinging to his ulster. Inga Sonderson was already in the elevator, but beyond one of his characteristic, set looks, he paid no attention to her, to the active amazement of Sassafras, who stared hopefully from one to the other. Dangerfield was evidently in one of his worst moods, with furrowed lower face and brooding, far-distant glance. At the sixth floor he started to bolt out, and then, aware of her presence, drew back hastily, saying,