"Hurry, old dear, tell 'em we're here!" "Tell 'em to play 'Admiration'!" shouted Sloane.

"You two order; Phoebe and I are going to shake a wicked calf," and they sailed off in the muddled crowd.

Axia and Amory, acquaintances of an hour, jostled behind a waiter to a table at a point of vantage; there they took seats and watched.
"There's Findle Margotson, from New Haven!" she cried above the uproar.
"'Lo, Findle! Whoo-ee!" "Oh, Axia!" he shouted in salutation.

"C'mon over to our table." "No!" Amory whispered.
"Can't do it, Findle; I'm with somebody else! Call me up to-morrow about one o'clock!" Findle, a nondescript man-about-Bisty's, answered incoherently and turned back to the brilliant blonde whom he was endeavoring to steer around the room.
"There's a natural damn fool," commented Amory.
"Oh, he's all right.

Here's the old jitney waiter.