rollers, there" Three other basely comic waiters on roller skates came to attention.
"Follow him in and pile up on him when he makes the grand spill—see what I mean? Get your trays loaded now and get off. Now you other people, take your seats. No, no, Annie, you're at the head, I told you. Tom, you're at the foot and start the rough-house when you get the tray in the neck. Now, all set."
Merton Gill was about to leave this distressing scene but was held in spite of himself by the voice of a newcomer.
"Hello, Jeff! Atta boy!"
He knew without turning that the Montague girl was again at his elbow. He wondered if she could be following him.
"Hello, Flips! How's the kid?" The producer had turned cordially to her. "Just in time for the breakaway stuff. See how you like it."
"What's the big idea?"
"Swell reception at the Maison de Glue, with the waiters on roller skates in honour of rich Uncle Rollo Glue. The head waiter starts the fight by doing a fall with his tray. Tom gets the tray in the neck and soaks the nearest man—banquet goes flooey. Then we go into the chase stuff."
"Which is Uncle Rollo?"
"That's him at the table, with the herbaceous border under his chin."
"Is he in the fight?"
"I think so. I was going to rehearse it once more to see if I could get a better idea. Near as I can see now, everybody takes a crack at him."
"Well, maybe." The Montague girl seemed to be considering. "Say, how about this, Jeff? He's awful hungry, see, and he's begun to eat the celery and everything he can reach, and when the mix-up starts he just eats on and pays no attention to it. Never even looks up, see what I mean? The fight spreads the whole length of the table; right around Rollo half-a-dozen murders are going on and he just eats and pays no attention. And he's still eating when they're
