in sudden horror, hoping against hope. But in vain. His gartered leg was exposed to the world!
Grace had taken a seat at the table near the curtain. Harold hastily sank down opposite her. His damaged sleeve had been repaired and he now thrust his uncovered leg in for Hertz's busy attentions.
"Are you having a good time?" Grace asked him curiously.
"Why—yes," he answered.
"You don't look it," she observed. "You look tired and worried."
"A fellow can't be host at the Frolic and not think about it a little bit," Harold offered loftily.
But he stopped talking abruptly and almost fell out of his chair as Hertz pricked his bare flesh viciously. An instant later Harold actually did sink to the floor as a dead weight suddenly struck the leg that was back of the curtain. Without stopping to explain to Grace, he jumped up and rushed around the curtain. As he had expected, Morris Hertz had chosen this psychological moment to indulge in one of his dizzy spells!
By the time Harold bent over him, however, the tailor was recovering.
"I'd be all right if I only could get a little drink," the ill man mumbled.
