"There's enough danger about without inviting any more," laughed Wendell. "Somebody tell a story. Now's your chance, Chase."
The latter shook his head.
"Sorry I can't oblige," he said. "But my gift of gab is less than is usually given to mortals."
"Dunstan, then?"
"He's sure to ring in something about painting or artists," declared "Peewee." "It's a most oddly odd thing what a grip art and music get on some people."
"Commonplace individuals of course can't be expected to understand it," remarked the musician, loftily. "Your bleatings, 'Peewee,' are——"
"Order, order!" interrupted the Sous Chef. "Dunstan has the platform."
"What shall it be—fact or fiction?" asked the art student.
"Give us a little true fiction," remarked Wendell, with a laugh.
Dunstan took a quick turn or two across the room, looked up at the ceiling, then down at the bare planks beneath his feet. Finally he raised his head so as to survey the crowd.