V.
Mr. Jerome Archibald had very few hatreds; people whom he disliked he carefully avoided. Being fastidious to an extreme, he had few friends, but he likewise had no enemies. He had, however, a certain cousin who lived in Boston, who had in some way early offended him, and for whom he continued to have a most inexplicable dislike. Hunnewell Hollis was a Harvard man, who had been a great swell at college, and who was considered “clevah.” He was a year or two older than Archibald, and he usually presumed a little upon his age and upon his superior education. It was Hunnewell Hollis’s card which was brought up on the silver tray.
Archibald impatiently rose and went down to the reception-room. There he found Hollis walking up and down the room, apparently in some excitement.
“Jerry, this won’t do, old man!—heard ladies’ voices upstairs! ’Twon’t do! Lucky I ran down with the yacht. Now I’m going to carry you off with me. By the way, Somers and Billy Nahant and Jack Chadwick are here, and I took the liberty to invite them here overnight—knew you were alone—knew you would be glad to put them up.”
“By Jove, you do me great honor! Unfortunately I haven’t room for you—I’ve only just let the house—taken—by Jove! I must take in the sign.”
Archibald’s face betrayed no sign of his justifiable prevarication.
“Well, then, as it is dinner-time I’ll stay to dinner with you.”
“Sorry, very sorry. But the ladies who have taken the house would think it very odd——”
“Well, how in the devil are you dining with them, Jerry?”
“They asked me, in order to discuss the terms. A few details before signing the lease, don’t you know!”