Miss Flagg was giving a theatre party for the same affair, and he remembered now that he had promised to join her party as well, forgetting all about the engagement he had made with Miss Sargeant.

It was impossible at this late hour to accept either one of the young women's invitations without offending the other.
"Well, I won't go to EITHER, that's all," he vociferated aloud to the opposite wall.

"I'll send 'em each a wire, and say that I'm sick or have got to go down to the office, and--and, by George! I'll go up and see Blix, and we'll read and make things to eat." And no sooner had this alternative occurred to him than it appeared too fascinating to be resisted.

A weight seemed removed from his mind.
When it came to that, what amusement would he have at either affair?
"Sit up there with your shirt-front starched like a board," he blustered, "and your collar throttling you, and smile till your face is sore, and reel off small talk to a girl whose last name you can't remember! Do I have any fun, does it do me any good, do I get ideas for yarns?
What do I do it for?
I don't know." While speaking he had been kicking off his tight shoes and such of his full dress as he had already put on, and with a feeling of enormous relief turned again to his sack suit of tweed.

"Lord, these feel better!" he exclaimed, as he substituted the loose business suit for the formal rigidity of his evening dress.