# Dangerous Business/Chapter 9

Diana, drooping with sleepiness, was alone in a taxi returning to her room without an inkling of the Mettens' dilemma. She believed that she, or rather the Slengels, had the Metten order practically put away. For Jello had promised it, repeatedly, both when sober and after the cocktails. Sam had assured her of his highly superior regard for the Slengels, personally and as business men; he was for them and with them from now on. He would sign an order on Monday and his brother would O.K. it.
So Di had won the Metten business, practically; and she had given nothing for it. No, not nothing; but no one could say that she had given all. It had been a great party and Jello had passed "out" about 4 a. m. Di wished, now, that at that hour she had gone home; not because of any subsequent occurrence, for the party really had lost its pep by that time, but because it would be a bit easier for her when she should see Ellen.
Church bells chimed and she remembered that it was Christmas. She sat up; Ellen would be awaiting her, with a Christmas gift, and would Be bothered, extra, because she had been out all night. It had been silly, sticking in a party gone completely dead on your hands; but it had been her business to stick and try to think up improvements.
The whole party had been business and Ellen ought to see it. She would, when Di told her a few things. Di drew ​closer about her the soft, warm folds of Leo—not the original Leo of the light-bracket above her bed but a twin to him lent her by Art Slengel and to become her own, irrevocably, when Sam Metten signed that order, and Phil Metten O.K.'d it.
Di disembarked, airily leaving the change of a two dollar bill for a Christmas tip to the driver. Ellen opened the room door. "Happy New Year!" hailed Di and kissed her.
Ellen kissed her and Di clung, impulsively, and suddenly having had no plan of diversion of question from herself, Di demanded, "Ellen, seen the morning paper?"
"Yes," said Ellen.
"So've I. Somebody brought one in to the party 'bout midnight. One of the men; we were all speaking about it," Di related, conveying an idea, she hoped, of the size and propriety of the party. "Jay Rountree ran off and got married, they say."
Ellen stood away from Di.
"D'you know who had the paper?" Di queried, not dropping the inspiration of this tack. "Your friend Lew Alban."
"What?" asked Ellen.
"Sure. He came to the party."
"He went home," said Ellen, more to herself than to Di. Lew Alban, she thought, had gone on the six o'clock train.
"Yeah; he did drop out 'bout one. Had to catch the late St. Louis train. But we had him for a while. Nice man."
"Have you slept at all?" asked Ellen.
"Some; at May Cobbel's. But I can sleep some more; ​I sure can inhale some sleep." Upon a chair, she laid Leo and fell, face downward, on her bed.
Ellen unbuttoned her slippers and removed them, whereat Di wiggled her toes satisfiedly and volunteered, yawning, "Well, the Metten business is certainly in the bin."
"Slengel's bin?"
"Yea," yawned Di. "We got it. Sam signs on Monday. And while we're speaking of business, don't drop with astonishment if you begin feelin' pretty soon a sort of slump in the business influence of the First Baptist church and the foreign missionary society of Stanley, Illinois. Lew loosened a bit last night."
Ellen listened.
"That boy's seekin' a change, Ellen."
"Lew Alban?"
"Lew. The old boy, who's retirin', is still sold on J. A.'s singin' hymns with him and shippin' missionaries off to China; he gets his big kick out of hymns and missionary meetin's. He has to; he's eighty. But Lew—well, he's a fairly vigorous young man and naturally he appreciates a different sort of entertainment."
"The Slengels' sort!" retorted Ellen.
Di turned over and lay on her back. "What's so sour with the Slengels' sort of entertainment?" she defended. "What's the matter with giving a man a pleasant little party?"
"To get his business!"
"Sure, to get his business! What's the matter with that?" Di demanded directly and sat up. "Art Slengel can't go after the Alban business by suggesting another ​Baptist church; Art ain't a Baptist; and besides, it's been done. Lew's bored to tears with it and missionary meetin's. He wants an agreeable time; so that's what we're givin' him."
"Mr. Rountree," objected Ellen loyally at this gibe. "Mr. Rountree never——"
"Never went down to Stanley in his life," taunted Di, "except for the purest reasons. He believes that a missionary to baptize the Chinks has to start from that town or he'd fall on his face in the river. Honest, Ellen, look at me. Can you imagine J. A. rushin' down to Stanley to sit in the old pew to hear more powerful Baptist preachin'? Can you see him takin' a day-coach so as never to miss a missionary meetin', if old Stanley Alban wasn't waiting for him in the Sunday school room—with his million dollar a year business?"
"Yes," declared Ellen.
"Then let me sleep; and get a lot yourself; you need it worse'n I do." Di lay prone. "Let me sleep . . . I don't need any dinner . . . God, the amount men give you to eat! . . . Got 'nough for a week."
With little assistance from Di, beyond small twistings and wriggles, Ellen removed Di's dress and got her under the bed covers. When Denny called, Ellen went with him alone to a restaurant Christmas dinner.
Jay married; the Metten business in the Slengels' bin; the Alban business shaken. How her world was spinning. Home! She longed for home, for her father's voice, his kiss upon her cheek, his strong arms about her. Yet on Monday, at the office, might be word from Jay; on Monday at the office might be himself, though married.
​On Monday, there was neither Jay nor word of any sort from him. On Monday, with Lida, his wife, he was still at Tryston, where he received, while at breakfast with Lida in her room, a calling card engraved with the name:
"Mr. Philip Metten."
Written in ink, under the name, were the words, "and family."