"Well, let's see—Don't you know some friend you might go to?"
"I tried a couple of fellows. Couldn't find anybody in. I wish I'd sold that Keats letter like I started to last week."
"How about those men you play cards with in that Sammy place?"
"Do you think I'd ask them?" His voice rang with righteous horror.
Gloria winced. He would rather contemplate her active discomfort than
feel his own skin crawl at asking an inappropriate favor. "I thought of
Muriel," he suggested.
"She's in California."
"Well, how about some of those men who gave you such a good time while I was in the army? You'd think they might be glad to do a little favor for you."
She looked at him contemptuously, but he took no notice.
"Or how about your old friend Rachael—or Constance Merriam?"
"Constance Merriam'
