“I can’t, Jason. I’ve got another engagement.”
“Who with?”
“Never mind. But I can’t come.”
“Oh, rubbish! You’ll have to tell me or else we go together.”
“Neither the one nor the other.”
For a moment he looked threatening. “I’m not fond of these mysteries,” he said. Then his face cleared again.
“Well,” he cried, “it’s a small matter for me, and, after all, you don’t know what you miss. You don’t keep whisky here, I suppose?”
“No, we don’t drink grog, either of us.”
“So I should have thought. Then I’ll make for livelier quarters”—and crying good-night to us, he went singing out of the room.
The moment I heard the outer door shut on him, I turned to Duke.