the lid nailed down, and nothing more need to be done about him. Di was rather sorry for him.
She was not at all sorry for Jello. Her cheek felt rough and itchy under its rouge and she suspected that a shoulder would be black and blue in the morning. Besides, hadn't Sam, after promising her that half million dollar order at another party, failed to deliver it? No matter that maybe he couldn't; he hadn't.
He whistled at her as she passed his sheltering palms, so she looked in and he patted the divan beside him. Under his other arm, he held Irene.
"Come on!" he invited, having been refreshed by highballs: until a company of three, provided the other two were girls, no longer composed, for him, a crowd. "Havin' supper soon. Lot's supper. Plenty f'rus all. Come in."
Irene refrained from seconding the invitation but Di did not require such a formality.
"What you been doin' with old Meth—Methuselah?" Sam managed with jealous dignity.
"Talking to him," replied Di, carelessly.
"What tubjects," demanded Jello, with pompous preciseness, "did you such on? What tubjects, I say, did you such on?"
Irene reached for a drink for him, which Di forbade by a shake of the head. In spite of her Rene pushed the glass at him. Di thrust it back, spilling half the highball over Irene's skirt.
" you," swore Rene, and dashed the rest over Di.
"Girls!" rebuked Jello, much pleased. "Ladies!"
The whisky and soda trickled in tiny, teasing rivulets
