"Here's where I get another one on
Jerry--what?" he said, ignoring Mrs. Fiske. "Old Jerry thinks he's
playing such a wonderful game in there he can't tear himself away--but
there'll be something doing, I guess, when he does come and finds
where I am!" He had partaken freely of the excellent white wine served
at luncheon (the first Sylvia had ever seen), and though entirely
master of his speech, was evidently even more uplifted than was his
usual hilarious wont. Sylvia looked down at him, and across at the
weak-faced woman opposite her, and had a moment of wishing heartily
she had never come. She stood up impatiently, a movement which the
young man took to mean a threat of withdrawal. "Aw, _don't_ go!" he
pleaded, sprawling across the rug towards her. As she turned away, he
snatched laughingly at her skirts, crying out, "Tag! You're caught!
You're It!"
At this moment Jerry Fiske appeared in the doorway. He looked darkly
at his friend's cheerful face and said shortly: "Here, Stub--quit it!
Get up out of that!" He added to Sylvia, holding out his hand: "Come
on, go skating with me. The ice is great."
"Are the others going?" asked Sylvia.
"Oh yes, I suppose so," said Jerry, a trifle impatiently.
The young man on the floor scrambled up. "Here's one that's going,
whoever else don't," he announced.
"Get yourself a girl, then," commanded Jerry, "and tell the rest to
come along.
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