“Brother.”
“Oh, by Jove! this is one on me!” laughed Hanks. “Here I was asking you if you knew her! Say, a fellow with a sister like that ought to feel proud enough to blow up. I think she’s the handsomest girl I ever set eyes on.”
“You’re quite extravagant in your admiration,” said Chester, waving Hanks to a comfortable chair, although he felt like punching him in the eye. “Sit down, old fellow. But first hadn’t you better shake hands with Mr. Harmford? Harmford, this is Mr. Hanks, of Harvard.”
They made themselves comfortable before the faintly glowing embers on the hearth of the open fireplace. The music, softened and subdued by distance, floated faintly to their ears.
“How does it happen you’re not dancing, Harmford?” inquired Chet.
“Don’t care much for dancing—never did. I prefer some less strenuous form of amusement. Now, if some one would only start up a set at bridge.”
“Or poker,” laughed Arlington. “That’s the game for genuine amusement.”
Hanks had pricked up his ears, and was showing the greatest interest.
“Poker is a good game,” he said. “A man’s game.”
“Do you play?” asked Chester.