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Dorothy’s reflections on the sudden and violent change in the demeanor of Tommy came to an end before evening. Arnold’s automobile stopped before 137 West 88th Street and its owner marched up the stairs to the door, whistling whatever he could remember of “Dardanella” jauntily yet sentimentally. Dorothy was delighted to see Arnold. He was a dependable sort. He wasn’t fearfully smooth, like Maxwell, or fearfully rough, like Harper or—like Tommy. She didn’t feel at home in the offices of the Underwood Concert Corporation. Things happened too rapidly for comfort. You spoke to Maxwell, who seemed more interested in giving a lecture based on his experiences than in listening to you. Harper welcomed you in a boisterous way, and amiably but decisively imposed his will on you. Even Tommy, who never had been a difficult problem socially, became distant and mysteriously breezy professionally. Then there were such people as Elsie Freron—but she wouldn’t have to have anything to do with that woman. She looked positively disgusting. Dorothy disliked Maxwell’s way of calling the Freron woman “Elsie.” It was too intimate.

“Come out for a little spin and I'll tell you great news!” invited Arnold.

“But don’t be away too long because we have to have a talk with Uncle Elliott later on,” added Mrs. Loamford.

“Muffle up well,’ she added in a warning way. “Remember you have to take care of your voice now.”

Arnold looked at Dorothy questioningly.