Ralston walked as far as the Twenty-eighth Street subway station, where he caught a local for Forty-second Street. Thence he hurried to Delmonico's. It was now seven o'clock, and already the restaurant was nearly full.
"Philip, have you seen Mr. Scott?" he asked of the doorman.
"In the palm room, Mr. Ralston," answered the servant at once. "The head waiter told me to say that your dinner was ready."
Ralston checked his coat, and soon caught sight of his newly engaged private secretary at a small table in a corner. They shook hands, and Scott pointed to a pile of letters and papers beside him.
"This stuff came while you were out. I thought I'd better bring it along to save time."
"Good!" commented Ralston. "What is most of it?"
"Eight letters of congratulation, which I listed. A long letter from some old lady friend of yours when you were in Exeter——"
"I know—Mrs. Gorringe."
"Then that power of attorney from Bee, Single & Quick, that you expected. Oh, I don't know—a lot of circulars: 'Red Cross,' 'Special Relief,' 'Society for Assisting Wives and Children of Enlisted Men.'"