ose the knowledge of being able to jump
through a hoop better than any other wolf would justify a certain amount
of 'side.'"

Fortunately at this moment a young Italian journalist at another table
rose from his seat and delivered a two-minute oration in praise of the
heroine of the evening. He spoke in rapid nervous French, with a North
Italian accent, but much of what he said could be understood by the
majority of those present, and the applause was unanimous. At any rate
he had been brief and it was permissible to suppose that he had been
witty.

It was the opening for which Mr. Gerald Drowly had been watching and
waiting. The moment that the Italian enthusiast had dropped back into
his seat amid a rattle of hand-clapping and rapping of forks and knives
on the tables, Drowly sprang to his feet, pushed his chair well away, as
for a long separation, and begged to endorse what had been so very aptly
and gracefully, and, might he add, truly said by the previous speaker.
This was only the prelude to the real burden of his message; with the
dexterity that comes of practice he managed, in a couple of hurried
sentences, to divert the course of his remarks to his own personality and
career, and to inform his listeners that he was an actor of some note and
experience, and had had the honour of acting under--and here followed a
string of names of eminent actor managers of the day. He thought he
might be pardoned for mentioning the fact that his performance of
"Peterkin" in the "Broken Nutshell," had won the unstinted approval of
the dramatic critics of the Provincial press. Towards the end of what
was a long speech, and which seemed even longer to its hearers, he
reverted to the subject of Gorla's dancing and bestowed on it such
laudatory remarks as he had left over. Drawing his chair once again into
his immediate neighbourhood he sat down, aglow with the satisfied
consciousness of a good work worthily performed.

"I once acted a small part in some theatricals got up for a charity,"
announced Joan in a ringing, confidential voice; "the Clapham Courier
said that all the minor parts were very creditably sustained. Those were
its very words. I felt I must tell you that, and also say how much I
enjoyed Miss Mustelford's dancing."

Tony Luton cheered wildly.

"That's the cleverest speech so far," he proclaimed. He had been asked
to liven things up at his table and was doing his best to achieve that
result, but Mr. Gera