Howard Tate, who was trying vainly to comfort her; they were
exchanging "all my fault's" volubly and voluminously. Outside on a
snow covered walk Mr. Cyrus Medill, the Aluminum Man, was being
paced slowly up and down between two brawny charioteers, giving vent
now to a grunt, now to a string of unrepeatables, now to wild
pleadings that they'd just let him get at Jumbo. He was facetiously
attired for the evening as a wild man of Borneo, and the most
exacting stage manager after one look at his face would have
acknowledged that any improvement in casting the part would have
been quite impossible.
Meanwhile the two principals held the real centre of the stage.
Betty Medill--or was it Betty Parkhurst?--weeping furiously, was
surrounded by the plainer girls--the prettier ones were too busy
talking about her to pay much attention to her--and over on the
other side of the hall stood the camel, still intact except for his
head-piece, which dangled pathetically on his chest. Perry was
earnestly engaged in making protestations of his innocence to a ring
of angry, puzzled men. Every few minutes just as he had apparently
proved his case someone would mention the marriage certificate, and
the inquisition would begin again.
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