che he went
out into the hall and, making up a sentence, said it over to himself
several times. Considerably deleted, this was it:

"Well, if any girl ever led a man on and then jolted him, she did--and
she has no kick coming if I go out and get beautifully boiled."

So he walked through the supper room into a small room adjoining it,
which he had located earlier in the evening. It was a room in which
there were several large bowls of punch flanked by many bottles. He
took a seat beside the table which held the bottles.

At the second highball, boredom, disgust, the monotony of time, the
turbidity of events, sank into a vague background before which
glittering cobwebs formed. Things became reconciled to themselves,
things lay quietly on their shelves; the troubles of the day arranged
themselves in trim formation and at his curt wish of dismissal,
marched off and disappeared. And with the departure of worry came
brilliant, permeating symbolism. Edith became a flighty, negligible
girl, not to be worried over; rather to be laughed at. She fitted like
a figure of his own dream into the surface world forming about him. He
himself became in a measure symbolic, a type of the continent
bacchanal, the brilliant dreamer at play.

Then the symbolic mood faded and as he sipped his third highball his
imagination yielded to the warm glow and he lapsed into a state
similar to floating on his back in pleasant water. It was at this
point that he noticed that a green baize door near him was open about
two inches, and that through the aperture a pair of eyes were watching
him intently.

"Hm," murmured Peter calmly.

The green door closed--and then opened again--a bare half inch this
time.

"Peek-a-boo," murmured Peter.

The door remained stationary and then he became aware of a series of
tense intermittent whispers.

"One guy."

"What's he doin'?"

"He's sittin' lookin'."

"He better beat it off. We gotta get another li'l' bottle."

Peter listened while the words filtered into his consciousness.

"Now this," he thought, "is most remarkable."

He was excited. He was jubilant. He felt that he had stumbled upon a
mystery. Affecting an elaborate carelessness he arose and waited
around the table--then, turning quickly, pulled open the green door,
precipitating Private Rose into the room.

Peter bowed.

"How do you do?" he said.

Private Rose set one foot slightly in front of the other, poised for
fight, flight, or com