The emissary visited Banneker’s table, was observed to be in brief colloquy with him, and returned, alone.
“Wouldn’t he come?” interrogated the chorus.
“He’s awfully sorry, but he says he isn’t fit for decent human associations.”
“More and more interesting!”—“Why?”—“What awful thing has he been doing?”
“Eating onions,” answered Cressey. “Raw.”
“I don’t believe it,” cried the indignant Miss Forbes. “One doesn’t eat raw onions at Sherry’s. It’s a subterfuge.”
“Very likely.”
“If I went over there myself, who’ll bet a dozen silk stockings that I can’t—”
“Come off it, Ess,” protested her brother-in-law across the table. “That’s too high a jump, even for you.”
She let herself be dissuaded, but her dovelike eyes were vagrant during the rest of the dinner.