Harold hesitated. He had observed glints of silver out there on the ballroom floor when tuxedo coat-tails occasionally were flipped up over hip pockets in the gyrations of the "Charleston." The music had started up again. The guests were dancing. He would see what he could do.
He returned to Grace and suggested, "Let's dance a while till the food comes."
She agreed rather reluctantly. She was hungry and Harold's dancing was not the sort one starves for. But she decided to be agreeable. The floor was as crowded as ever, Harold saw to his satisfaction. He must lift a flask from some unsuspecting dancer's hip pocket. It would not be stealing. It would be for the purpose of saving somebody's life. After several misadventures he succeeded in getting possession of one of the precious containers. As he did so, he almost dropped it again. Standing near him on the side lines was Chester Trask, whom Harold now saw for the first time that evening. He watched Chester anxiously and then decided that the football captain had not observed his feat.
He would have dashed up and spoken to Chester had he not feared the tailor would suffer a relapse.
Retreating toward the curtain again, with a hastily muttered excuse to Grace, he slipped
