“They’ll have a bang-up time at Whitlock’s!” Jeffreys casually remarked.
Dashleigh fairly jumped out of his chair.
“Gee!”
“Who stuck a pin into you?” Jeffreys asked.
“Why, I’m billed for that entertainment to-night—myself and the mandolin!”
“Well, if that’s so, old man, you’d better get a move on!” Jeffreys assured.
But Bert was not listening to him. He had thrown aside the instrument and was dragging out a dress suit.
“If you will excuse me!” he panted. “Forgot all about that affair. By Jove! what will they think of me? And I told Starbright I’d be on hand to-night on time or break something. Well, there, I’ve kept my word; for I’ve broken that button!”
Then Bert began to “pitch himself into his clothes” in a hurried manner, talking all the time and bemoaning the fate that made him so forgetful. When he was dressed in what he considered a proper manner, he had his friends “look him over” to see that he was all there; bade them a hasty good night, and, with mandolin-case in hand, went out of the room like a shot.
Finding no carriage in waiting on Chapel Street, or the neighborhood, he hurried on and was soon in a car. Suddenly it occurred to him that he was somewhat hazy as to the street-number. He thought he had written it down and had put it in his pocket, and began to search for it, until he remembered that he had just made a change of clothing.