"The torpedo—I mean THE torpedo, in capital letters and italics with a line under the word. I've invented one that would blow—well— I've got it."
"Congratulations, felicitations, laudatory, remarks, and enthusiasm," cried Harry. "Without having slightest idea what a torpedo is, I rejoice with you. Come on back to the house, and tell us about it."
"I'm sorry, I can't, Harry, now. I'm engaged for a conference with the Naval Board, and I'm late already. But will you and Miss Marvin come to luncheon with me tomorrow?"
"Why not you with us, we saw you first?"
Summers laughed. "Well, for this reason, I want you to meet Mlle. de
Longeon, who will preside at this particular luncheon, and who is—"
The flush that came suddenly to the cheeks of the young officer brought involuntary laughter from Harry and Pauline.
"I take that as an acceptance—the Kerrimore, East Fifty-sixth street," he called, sharing in their laughter as he fled.
But at the gate of the Marvin house he came upon Raymond Owen. There was a hasty clasp of hands and "You're to come, too," cried Summers, continuing his flight.
"Where am I to come?" asked Owen, as he approached Harry and Pauline.
"To luncheon with Ensign Summers tomorrow. Isn't he dear? I love men who blush. They seem so innocent."