He nodded at me. I took up the list on which I had checked those present. Before I could call one, Lee Mitchell said, “On that I can answer for Mr. Collard and Mr. Gaines. Unqualifiedly. Their response if yes. ”
There was a stir, but no one spoke. I said, “Ferdinand Bowen.”
The broker said, husky but firm, “Yes.”
“Dr. Loring A. Burton.”
For a moment there was no reply, then Burton murmured in a tone so low it was barely heard, “No.” Everyone looked at him. He looked around, swallowed, and said suddenly and explosively, “Nonsense! Yes, of course! Romantic nonsense. Yes!”
Farrell said to him, “I should hope so. The wonder is you weren’t first.”
I went on, “Augustus Farrell.”
“Yes.”
I called the others, Drummond, Cabot, Pratt, Byron, Adler, Kommers; they all said yes. I called, “Michael Ayers.” He was still sprawled in his chair. I said his name again. Farrell, next to him, dug him in the ribs: “Mike! Hey! Say yes.” Mike Ayers stirred a little, opened his eyes into slits, bawled out, “Yes!” and shut his eyes again.
I turned to Wolfe, “That’s all, sir.”