in front of a couple—they both were young—who seemed in blissful enjoyment of the waltz.
"She hasn't got it on, so help me!"
"Sir!"
The young gentleman whose path he had impeded addressed him with a degree of scorn which was intended to be crushing. Mr. Fungst was not at all abashed.
"I wasn't speaking to you, my friend." Then, to himself, still audibly, "Mein Gott! If she has lost it!"
Striding forward, he caught a lady by the arm. She had on a dark green dress. She wore a pair of nose-glasses. More than the suggestion of a moustache adorned her upper lip. She was beginning to be stricken in years. But that did not prevent her waltzing, with apparent enjoyment, with a gentleman who seemed at least ten years her junior. She and her partner were still moving to the rhythm of the music when Mr. Fungst caught her by the arm.
"Excuse me, my name is Fungst, Jacob Fungst. There is a little word I wish to speak to you just now."
The lady stopped, startled. She turned. When her glance fell on Mr. Fungst—it had to fall some distance—she drew herself up and shuddered as though she had come into sudden contact with an iceberg.
"Who is this person?"
"Fungst," explained the owner of that name. "There is just a little thing about which I wish to speak to you two words outside."
