There was a slight lull, however, when Nealman and I came in. Van Hope spoke to me first—he was the only one of the guests I had met—and the others turned toward me with the good manners of their kind. In a moment Nealman had introduced me to Joe Nopp’s listeners and, an instant later, to Major Dell.
“Mr. Killdare is down here doing some work in zoology for his university,” Nealman explained, “and he’s agreed to show you chaps where to find game and fish. He knows this country from A to Izzard.”
I held the center of the floor, for a while, as I answered their questions; and I can say truly I had never met, on the whole, a better-bred and more friendly company of men. They wanted to know all about the game in the region, what flies or lures the bass were taking, as to the prevalence of diamond-backs, and if the tarpon were striking beyond the natural rock wall. In their eagerness they were like boys.
“You’ll talk better with a shot of something good,” Nealman told me at last, producing a quart bottle. “Have a little Cuban cheer.”
The bottle contained old Scotch, and its appearance put an end to all serious discussion. From thence on the mood of the gathering was ever lighter, ever happier; and I merely sat and looked on.
“The question ain’t,” Hal Fargo said of me with considerable emphasis, “whether he knows where the turkeys are, but whether or not he knows his college song!”
I pretended ignorance, but soon Van Hope and Nealman were singing “A Cow’s Best Friend” at the top of their voices, while Nopp tried to drown them out with “Fill ’em up for Williams.”
Even now it could not be said that any of the group were intoxicated. Fargo was certainly the nearest; his cheeks were flushed and his speech had that reckless accent that goes so often with the first stages of drunkenness. The distinguished Pescini was only animated and fanciful, Van Hope and Marten perhaps slightly stimulated. For all the charm of their conversation I couldn’t see that Nopp or Major Dell were receiving the slightest exhilaration from their drinks.
But the spirit of revelry was ever higher. These men were on a holiday, they had left their business cares a thousand miles to the north, mostly they were tried companions. None of us was aware of the passing of time. I saw at once that my presence was not objectionable to the party, so I lingered long after the purpose for which I had been brought among them had been fulfilled—purely for the sake of entertainment. I had never seen a frolic of millionaires before, and needless to say I enjoyed every moment of it.
In the later hours of night the revellers ranged further over the house. Joe Nopp was in the billiard room exhibiting fancy shots and pretending to receive the plaudits of a great multitude; Pescini and Van Hope were in conversation on the veranda, and Fargo was wholly absent and unaccounted for. I had missed Marten, the financier, for a moment; but his reappearance was the signal for a fresh rush to the living-room.