"Why not?"
"How the deuce do I know, Karl! I don't want to talk business, here——"
He ceased speaking as three or four white masked Bacchantes in fluttering raiment came dancing by to the wild music of Philemon and Baucis. Shaking their be-ribboned tambourines, flowery garlands and lynx-skins flying from their shoulders, they sped away on fleet little feet, hotly pursued by adorers.
"Come on," said the Harlequin briskly; "I think one of those skylarkers ought to prove amusing! Shall I catch you one?"
But he found no encouragement in the swift courtship he attempted; for the Bacchantes, loudly protesting at his interference, banged him over his head and shoulders with their resounding tambourines and danced away unheeding his blandishments.
"Flappers," observed a painted and powdered clown whose voice betrayed him as O'Hara; "this town is overstocked with fudge-fed broilers. They're always playin' about under foot, spoilin' your huntin'; and if you touch 'em they ki-yi no end."
"I suppose you're looking for Mrs. Leeds," said Westguard, smiling.
"I fancy every man here is doin' the same thing," replied the clown. "What's her costume? Do you know, Ironsides?"
"I wouldn't tell you if I did," said Westguard frankly.
The Harlequin shrugged.