Ledyard, bad tempered when he had dined too well, announced that he had had enough of that debutante party:
"Look at 'em," he said to Desboro. "Horrible little fluffs just out of the incubator—with their silly brains and rotten manners, and their 'Bunny Hugs' and 'Turkey Trots' and 'Dying Chickens,' and the champagne flaming in their baby cheeks! Why, their mothers are letting 'em dance like filles de Brasserie! Men used to know where to go for that sort of thing——"
Cairns, balancing gravely on heels and toes, waved one hand comprehensively.
"Problem was," he said, "how to keep the young at home. Bunny Hug solves it. See? All the comforts of the Tenderloin at home. Tha's 'splaination."
"Come on to supper," said Ledyard. "Your Blue Girl will be there, Jim."
"By all means," said Desboro courteously. "My car is entirely at your disposal." But he made no movement.
"Come to supper," insisted Ledyard.
"Commer supper," echoed Cairns gravely. "Whazzer mazzer? Commer supper!"
"Nothing," said Desboro, "could give me greater pleasure." He rose, bowed courteously to Ledyard, included Cairns in a graceful salute, and reseated himself.