“Was n’t it true?” Andrew Galpin’s sharp-edged voice injected a new and brisker element.
“Huh?” The interrogation seemed to have been jolted out of Chairman Bausch’s volume from somewhere below the Adam’s apple.
“Was n’t it true that there was a dinner at the club to celebrate the Lusitania?”
“That is not the question.”
“It’s my question.”
“It’s the only question,” put in Jeremy.
“You refuse to apologize—”
“For commenting on fact? Certainly.”
“While we ’re on the subject,” pursued Galpin, “is n’t it true that Professor Brender, of Old Central, came in when the dinner was half over, and gave you all hell for pulling such a rotten stunt?”
“Gott im Himmel!” muttered Blasius. He turned to Bausch. “Is that true?”