We had been so stunned by this horrible finale to our dinner that I don’t think anyone moved until Sally Folsom’s hysterical giggle broke the spell. There followed a few moments of excited discussion, mostly in monotones, while some of the boys admonished Harlan to “buck up,” while others winked and talked about “his having had too much.” The girls had gone for their wraps, since now it seemed impossible to resume frivolities.
There was a small but comfortable ante-room off the studio that Professor Kalin had allowed the boys to fit up for use during the winter months, and we had often taken turns at spending the night there when we wanted to work late or get an early morning start on some particularly interesting subject. It had been good-natured “Chubby” Collins’ for that weekend, but he took Harlan there and offered it to him in embarrassed sympathy;
“Go to bed, you sap, and get some shut-eye. That’s what you need. I gotta take Betty home.”
“Terrible, wasn’t it? Gave me such a nasty twist, I can’t get it out of my mind. Well, it’s only seven o’clock, Andy,” he concluded. “Shall we go out for a little cool morning air, before we have breakfast and brighten up the place?”
We were about ready to leave when Bob came in.
“How do you happen to be up so early ?” he asked. “Have you heard, too?”
“Heard what?” I asked quickly.