"It was the heat from your fingers and the glass was cold, you know," he
said again and again.

But the strangeness of the thing still held them. Turner set down the
glass with the others and dropped into a chair, letting her hands fall
in her lap, looking into their faces, nodding her head and shutting her
lips:

"Ah, _no_," she said after a while. "That _is_ funny. It kind of scares
one." She was actually pale.

"Oh, there's Dolly Haight!" cried Henrietta Vance as the door bell rang.
They all rushed to the door, running and scrambling, eager to tell the
news. Young Haight stood bewildered on the door mat in the vestibule,
his arms full of brown-paper packages, while they recounted the marvel.
They all spoke at once, holding imaginary beer glasses toward him in
their outstretched hands. Geary, however, refused to be carried away by
their excitement, and one heard him from time to time repeating, between
their ejaculations, "It was the heat from her fingers, you know, and the
glass was cold."

Young Haight was confused, incredulous; he could not at first make out
what _had_ happened.

"Well, just come and _look_ at the broken _glass_ on the _floor_,"
shouted Turner decisively, dragging him into the dining-room. They
waited, breathless, to hear what he would say. He looked at the broken
glass and then into their faces. Then he suddenly exclaimed:

"Ah, you're joking me."