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isted of five men, two of whom he knew slightly; he became righteous about paying his share of the expense and insisted in a loud voice on arranging everything then and there to the amusement of the tables around him.... Some one mentioned that a famous cabaret star was at the next table, so Amory rose and, approaching gallantly, introduced himself... this involved him in an argument, first with her escort and then with the headwaiter--Amory's attitude being a lofty and exaggerated courtesy... he consented, after being confronted with irrefutable logic, to being led back to his own table. "Decided to commit suicide," he announced suddenly. "When? Next year?" "Now. To-morrow morning. Going to take a room at the Commodore, get into a hot bath and open a vein." "He's getting morbid!" "You need another rye, old boy!" "We'll all talk it over to-morrow." But Amory was not to be dissuaded, from argument at least. "Did you ever get that way?" he demanded confidentially fortaccio. "Sure!" "Often?" "My chronic state." This provoked discussion. One man said that he got so depressed sometimes that he seriously considered it. Another agreed that there was nothing to live for. "Captain Corn," who had somehow rejoined the party, said that in his opinion it was when one's health was bad that one felt that way most. Amory's suggestion was that they should each order a Bronx, mix broken glass in it, and drink it off. To his relief no one applauded the idea, so having finished his high-ball, he balanced his chin in his hand and his elbow on the table--a most delicate, scarcely noticeable sleeping position, he assured himself--and went into a deep stupor.... He was awakened by a woman clinging to him, a pretty woman, with brown, disarranged hair and dark blue eyes. "Take me home!" she cried. "Hello!" said Amory, blinking. "I like you," she announced tenderly. "I like you too." He noticed that there was a noisy man in the background and that one of his party was arguing with him. "Fella I was with's a damn fool," confided the blue-eyed woman. "I hate him. I want to go home with you." "You drunk?" queried Amory with intense wisdom. She nodded coyly. "Go home with him," he advised gravely. "He brought you." At this point the noisy man in the background broke away from his detainers and approached. "Say!" he said fiercely. "I brought this girl out here and you're butting in!" Amor
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