Some one leaned over and spoke in Amory's ear.
"That's just Margaret Diamond. She's drunk and this fellow here brought
her. Better let her go."
"Let him take care of her, then!" shouted Amory furiously. "I'm no
W. Y. C. A. worker, am I?--am I?"
"Let her go!"
"It's _her_ hanging on, damn it! Let her hang!"
The crowd around the table thickened. For an instant a brawl threatened,
but a sleek waiter bent back Margaret Diamond's fingers until she
released her hold on Amory, whereupon she slapped the waiter furiously
in the face and flung her arms about her raging original escort.
"Oh, Lord!" cried Amory.
"Let's go!"
"Come on, the taxis are getting scarce!"
"Check, waiter."
"C'mon, Amory. Your romance is over."
Amory laughed.
"You don't know how true you spoke. No idea. 'At's the whole trouble."
* * * *
AMORY ON THE LABOR QUESTION
Two mornings later he knocked at the president's door at Bascome and
Barlow's advertising agency.
"Come in!"
Amory entered unsteadily.
"'Morning, Mr. Barlow."
Mr. Barlow brought his glasses to the inspection and set his mouth
slightly ajar that he might better listen.
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