"Of course you do. I saw them out in the lobby a minute ago." Minot rose. "I'll bring them in. But—but—"
"What is it?"
"Oh, never mind. I believe you."
Trimmer and his proposition still adorned the lobby, puffed with pride and pompousness. Briefly Minot explained that a gentleman in the grill-room desired to be introduced, and graciously the two followed after. The Chicago George Harrowby rose as he saw the group approach his table. Suddenly behind him Minot heard a voice:
"My God!" And the limp Englishman of the sandwich boards made a long lean streak toward the door. Minot leaped after him, and dragged him back.
"Here, Trimmer," he said, "your proposition has chilblains."
"What's the trouble?" Mr. Trimmer glared about him.
"Allow me," said Minot. "Sir—our leading vaudeville actor and his manager. Gentlemen—Mr. George Harrowby, of Chicago!"
"Sit down, boys," said Mr. Harrowby genially.
