Something he read in them made him laugh. This was only for the fraction of a second, however, for a glove, with the _n_th_power_behind_it,_lifted_him_a_clear_three_feet_into_a_stack_of_gilt_chairs_near_his_own_corner._
He didn't move, and the "Boilerplate" stared at him stupidly.
"Say, _you_ made him look at you," he said to Natica. "I didn't mean to land on him blind."
But she did not heed him.
She was among the gilt chairs, with Jack Drayton's head upon her lap. The wheels of a cab stopped outside, and the Hartopp was seizing her dazed lord and master. She had his coat and bediamonded linen in her hands, and she clutched the "Boiler-plate" firmly, leading him to the door.
"Say, Maisie, wait a minute," he protested. "I've got the swell's college shirt on, and I didn't mean to land on him blind."
I opened the door, for she signaled with her eyes.
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