"Tell him I'll be right down," Jay dismissed the boy.
"Not we?" suggested Lida.
"I'll see 'em," offered Jay.
"Expect me," warned Lida.
He descended, with no mind for Phil Metten and family. Lida, he plainly recognized, was in a mood for amusement.
In the lounge, near the doors, waited a bald, plaid-clad golfer with two black-haired girls, very slender and in very new sport suits, and a black-haired woman of ampler girth and girdle, all standing in a close, uneasy covey, overaware of the eyes upon them.
"Hello, Mr. Metten," hailed Jay, hurrying toward them with never a thought in his head of that which, at this difficult moment, sustained and comforted Phil Metten—his possession, as yet unsigned, of a business of five hundred thousand dollars for the coming year.
"Ah; here you are!" cried Phil, warm with his relief and extending both his big hands. "Here he is, mamma!" Triumphantly Phil introduced to Jay, in order, mamma, Ruby and Rosita, who each in turn congratulated him upon his marriage.
"Mrs. Rountree, the lovely bride," reminded mamma with coy boldness. "She is not up yet, so?"
"Is it a good picture of her in the papers?" inquired Phil, flatteringly.
"The one of him is not so good, is it, mamma?" appealed Rosita, shyly.
"Hardly would I have known it was him," complimented mamma.
"My wife will be down in a minute," promised Jay, but
