The clap of Woods Thorndyke’s hand on his shoulder in no light fashion awakened him from his reverie.
“Come out of it, old top!” exclaimed the newcomer cheerily. “What’s on the youngster’s mind? Come on up to the card room. One of the chaps has some of his dad’s best private stock and you’ll just fit in for a rubber!”
Howard shook his head.
“No, thanks, Thorn, old boy,” he declared, “no time for cards to-night—got an engagement—with my own dad!”
“Oh, come on,” urged the other, “you can get your call down any old time, and a nice little game—one rubber——”
But the Benton heir was firm about one thing. His head shake was more decided than ever.
“No—nary a rub—” he declared with positiveness, “but,” and he wavered a little as he eyed his companion. Really, he began to feel sorry for himself. What right did Elinor have to get him all wrought up like this. He felt that by now he needed, most likely deserved, a drink. “But,” he went on brightening a little, “I believe I could use a little shot or so!”
And one or two in that congenial company of his boon companions led to more and more, until by two o’clock he had quite forgotten all about Elinor, forgotten many things, in fact, save his determination not to enter a card game which might last interminable hours. Somewhere in his hazy consciousness it was borne in on him that he had an important engagement with his father, but he could not just think what it was about.
He made a trip to the smoking room and learned that his father had neither been seen nor heard from. Oh, well, whatever it was he was going to talk to dad about would have to wait. He was tired; he was going home.
He started for the hat room. Just outside the door two chaps were talking. Both of them he knew well, but the “Hello” he had almost hurled at them was frozen on his lips at a name he heard. In a twinkling the haziness disappeared. He knew why he had been waiting. He stepped back into the shadow of a potted palm and listened without compunction.