teased Bill; he had not known how he wanted Bill to keep them; why, they were Bill.
A flourish of the drums and saxophone warned that the dance was ending, and Gregg slipped to the side of the floor where that blond head was turning.
"Hello, Gregg," Bill hailed, happily. "Where've you been sitting out with Marjorie?"
"Telephone call; can you come downstairs?" Gregg replied. He led Billy, not to the telephone near which Marjorie was waiting, but to a corner of the coat room.
"See here, Gregg, what's up?" Billy demanded, fully aware now that Gregg had some serious communication.
"Bill, Mr. Hale's been hurt."
"Heh? Where? How? Gregg, where's Marjorie; does she know it?"
"Yes, old fellow. I was with her when she found out. She's going to need you to-night about as much as possible—maybe."
"Good Lord! Gregg, her father's not dead?"
"I don't know; she doesn't either. No one here does."
"What was it? Street hold up? Taxi accident? How did you hear?"
"When some one sent for Doctor Grantham. This way:" and as unemotionally as he could, Gregg related how the call had come, while Billy went white and his eyes were wet when Gregg told him how Marjorie heard.
"The poor little girl, Gregg! Where's she now?"
"Hush! Wait!" Gregg seized his sleeve and held him. "You understand the doctor's girl bungled the address; Marjorie didn't know where her father had gone; so I had to tell the doctor."
