He babbled with the returning jazzers for a quarter of an hour or so,
tactfully circumvented Peter into offering him the loan of a car since he
had to go into New York, and intimated that he would drop back and in at
the Rackstraws' dance as soon as possible, after many apologies for daring
to leave at all. Then he went slowly upstairs, humming loudly as he did so.
Elinor met him outside his door.
"Ollie--as long as you're going in--I wonder if you'd mind--" Her tone was
elaborately careless but her eyes were dancing as she gave him a letter,
firmly addressed but unstamped.
"No, glad to--" And then he grinned. "You'll be at the Rackstraws'."
"Yes, Ollie."
"Well--we'll be back by ten thirty or try to. Maybe earlier," he said at
her back and she turned and smiled once at him. Then he went into his room.
"Mr. Theodore Billett," said the address on the letter, "252A Madison Ave.,
N. Y. C.," and down in the lower corner, "Kindness of Mr. Oliver Crowe."
He thought he might very well ask for the latter phrase on Ted's and
Elinor's wedding invitations. He passed a hand over his forehead--that had
been harder than walking a tight-rope with your head in a sack--but the
chasm had been crossed and nothing was left now but the fireworks on the
other side.
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