"Business!" Colonel Peck exploded like a firecracker.
"With—you?" It was all Watlington could do to tear the two words out of his throat. He croaked like a big bullfrog.
"With me," said Wally, bowing and taking his place at the head of the table. "Unless," he added, "you would prefer to discuss the situation with the rank and file of the Third Avenue Country Club."
The silence which followed that remark was impressive. I could hear somebody's heart beating. It may have been my own. As usual Colonel Peck was first to recover the power of speech, and again as usual he made poor use of it.
"You—you young whelp!" he gurgled. "So it was——"
"Shut up, Jim!" growled Watlington, whose eyes had never left Wally's face. Hamilton carefully placed his cigar in the ashtray and tried to put a match into his mouth. Then he turned on me, sputtering.
"Are you in on this?" he demanded.
"Be perfectly calm," said Wally. "Mr. Curtiss is not in on it, as you so elegantly express it. I am the only one who is in on it. Me, myself, W. W. Wallace, at your service. If you will favour me with your attention, I will explain——"
"You'd better!" ripped out the Colonel.
"Ah," said the youngster, grinning at Peck, "always a little nervous on the tee, aren't you?"