And besides, nobody looked at Bibbs.
He was better content to be left to himself; his voice was not strong enough to make itself heard over the hubbub without an exhausting effort, and the talk that went on about him was too fast and too fragmentary for his drawl to keep pace with it.

So he felt relieved when each of his neighbors in turn, after a polite inquiry about his health, turned to seek livelier responses in other directions.

For the talk went on with the eating, incessantly.

It rose over the throbbing of the orchestra and the clatter and clinking of silver and china and glass, and there was a mighty babble.
"Yes, sir! Started without a dollar."...

"Yellow flounces on the overskirt--"...