As we passed
it, the vague perfume of the grape drifted out to us.
"Let's have a bottle," I began.
"Mr. Comstalk!"
"By absent-treatment!" I hastened to add.
"You will make a capital comrade--if we ever get out of this cellar."
"Trust me for that!" I replied gaily. "Be careful; there's a pile of
empty bottles, yearning to be filled with tomato-catsup. Give me your
hand."
But the moment the little digits closed over mine, a thrill seized me,
and I quickly bent my head and kissed the hand. It was wrong, but I
could not help it. She neither spoke nor withdrew her hand; and my
fear that she might really be offended vanished.
"We are nearly out of it," I said exultantly. "I see the cellar-stairs
on ahead. If only those doors are open!"
"Heaven is merciful to the fool, and we are a pair," she replied,
sighing gratefully. "It seems strange that nobody should be in the
cellar on a night like this. Hark! They are playing again up stairs
in the ball-room."
"And wondering a whole lot where that third ten of hearts has gone."
"But, listen. How are we to get back to the trolley? We certainly can
not walk the distance in these clothes."
"Oh, that carryall will come to our rescue. We are weary and are
leaving early, don't you know? That part is simple; the complicated
thing is to shake the dust of this cellar.
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