"Let it out, then, let it out!" said Bob Masterman, laying down his carving-fork and setting out glasses; "I'm as dry as the night before, boys."
Under Miss Yockley's deft offices, a cork popped promptly, and four glasses were filled in as many seconds.
"I guess we can let Nick off the water-wagon for to-night," said Mr. Masterman, "while we drink confusion to the Masked Man. But what's wrong with Prettiness here? Swore off?" This to Daisy, who had made no movement to lift her glass.
Daisy merely dimpled and shook her head.
"Somebody say something," interpolated Miss Stella; "Come on, Kid—if you knew the pain Bob's in, you wouldn't keep him waiting. Do you want some water in it—or what?"
"Water in it!" ejaculated Mr. Masterman, "Help!... 'Water in it?' she says, as though she meant it."
Nick Cluett, who, glass in hand, had been regarding Daisy narrowly, spoke out.
"Let up, people," he said, tersely; "she don't want it."
"Oh, dewberries!" observed Bob Masterman, mincingly. "Well, here's to the trimmin' our boy Nick so nearly got—may we never, never be so near the cruel bread-line agen!"
Supper passed amid a continual "kidding back and forth" between Miss Yockley and Mr. Masterman, which speeded up as the champagne bottles emptied.