Merivale cleared his throat. “Very well,” he said dryly.
“All right sir,” said the fitter giving Merivale a last tap on the buttocks. He went back into the booth to dress.
“All right old thing,” shouted Cunningham, “I’ve got to go pick out another suit … I’ll expect you at seven. I’ll have a Jack Rose waiting for you.”
Merivale’s hands were trembling as he fastened his belt. Perkins, Jack Cunningham, the damn blackguard, hydroplanes, Jack Cunningham Salmagundi Perkins. He went to a phone booth in a corner of the store and called up his mother. “Hello Mother, I’m afraid I wont be up to dinner. … I’m dining with Randolph Perkins at the Salmagundi Club. … Yes it is very pleasant. … Oh well he and I have always been fairly good friends. … Oh yes it’s essential to stand in with the men higher up. And I’ve seen Jack Cunningham. I put it up to him straight from the shoulder man to man and he was very much embarrassed. He promised a full explanation within twentyfour hours. … No I kept my temper very well. I felt I owed it to Maisie. I tell you I think the man’s a blackguard but until there’s proof. … Well good night dear, in case I’m late. Oh no please dont wait up. Tell Maisie not to worry I’ll be able to give her the fullest details. Good night mother.”
They sat at a small table in the back of a dimly lighted tearoom. The shade on the lamp cut off the upper parts of their faces. Ellen had on a dress of bright peacock blue and a small blue hat with a piece of green in it. Ruth Prynne’s face had a sagging tired look under the street makeup.
“Elaine, you’ve just got to come,” she was saying in a whiny voice. “Cassie’ll be there and Oglethorpe and all the old gang. … After all now that you’re making such a success of editorial work it’s no reason for completely abandoning your old friends is it? You dont know how much we talk and wonder about you.”
“No but Ruth it’s just that I’m getting to hate large parties. I guess I must be getting old. All right I’ll come for a little while.”
Ruth put down the sandwich she was nibbling at and reached for Ellen’s hand and patted it. “That’s the little trouper. … Of course I knew you were coming all along.”
“But Ruth you never told me what happened to that traveling repertory company last summer. …”
“O my God,” burst out Ruth. “That was terrible. Of course it was a scream, a perfect scream. Well the first thing that happened was that Isabel Clyde’s husband Ralph Nolton who was managing the company was a dipsomaniac … and then the lovely Isabel wouldn’t let anybody on the stage who didn’t act like a dummy for fear the rubes wouldnt know who the star was. … Oh I cant tell about it any more. … It isnt funny to me any more, it’s just horrible. … Oh Elaine I’m so discouraged. My dear I’m getting old.” She suddenly burst out crying.
“Oh Ruth please dont,” said Ellen in a little rasping voice. She laughed. “After all we’re none of us getting any younger are we?”
“Dear you dont understand … You never will understand.”
They sat a long while without saying anything, scraps of lowvoiced conversation came to them from other corners of the dim tearoom. The palehaired waitress brought them two orders of fruit salad.
“My it must be getting late,” said Ruth eventually.
“It’s only half past eight. … We dont want to get to this party too soon.”
“By the way … how’s Jimmy Herf. I havent seen him for ages.”
“Jimps is fine. … He’s terribly sick of newspaper work. I do wish he could get something he really enjoyed doing.”
“He’ll always be a restless sort of person. Oh Elaine I was so happy when I heard about your being married. … I acted like a damn fool. I cried and cried. … And now with Martin and everything you must be terribly happy.”
“Oh we get along all right. … Martin’s picking up, New York seems to agree with him. He was so quiet and fat for a long while we were terribly afraid we’d produced an imbecile. Do you know Ruth I don’t think I’d ever have another baby. … I was so horribly afraid he’d turn out deformed or something. … It makes me sick to think of it.”
“Oh but it must be wonderful though.”
They rang a bell under a small brass placque that read: Hester Voorhees Interpretation of the Dance. They went up three flights of creaky freshvarnished stairs. At the door open into a room full of people they met Cassandra Wilkins in a Greek tunic with a wreath of satin rosebuds round her head and a gilt wooden panpipe in her hand.
“Oh you darlings,” she cried and threw her arms round them both at once. “Hester said you wouldnt come but I just knew you would. … Come wight in and take off your things, we’re beginning with a few classic wythms.” They followed her through a long candlelit incensesmelling room full of men and women in dangly costumes.
“But my dear you didn’t tell us it was going to be a costume party.”
“Oh yes cant you see evewything’s Gweek, absolutely Gweek. … Here’s Hester. … Here they are darling. … Hester you know Wuth … and this
