"'Lo, Rene," hailed Di, pleasantly; and was glad she was here, for Irene Pierce was her understudy although, in another sense, her rival for Jello. She was employed this evening to make it particularly joyful for Sam Metten. A couple of the others occasionally would assist in the cheer, but Irene was paid to specialize on Sam.
She peered at Di but did not speak, being peeved at Jello's pronounced preference for Diana. Not that Rene liked Sam—she shared, indeed, Di's aversion—but he was a man with a choice of two playmates and, invariably, he preferred the other.
Di, fresh from the cab, was perfectly willing that Irene take on Jello first. Di could hear just outside the door an elephantine thumping on the floor which she identified as Jello's toes tapping his boyish eagerness for the dance.
"Shove him from shore," urged Di, generously.
"Oh, Di-anna, Di-anna; don't you hear the pi-anna," chanted Jello in the tenor falsetto of his lighter moods; and Irene relapsed into her chair.
"I'll jump in," agreed Di, "but for God's sake row out with the water-wings and tow me to the beach." So she sought her partner.
Jello perspired in black broadcloth with wide, plaited shirt bosom already wilted. He was very bald and very nearsighted; when he discarded his glasses, he had to hold his eyes half closed to obtain any clear vision at all.
He squinted at Diana to make sure of her before tucking her under his arm and parading her to a tray of cocktails, which he already had sampled. Di drank one; and danced.
