Rutile was again looking through the papers brought by Topham. Without raising his eyes he reached over and pounded a bell. “Shut up or talk to Topham till I finish this,” he ordered.
“What you reading? A love letter?”
“Lord! no! Nothing half so important. Only some stuff from the State Department.”
“Oh! That! Let it go!” He turned back to Topham. “By George old man! I haven’t seen you since I bilged from the U. S. N. A. Who’d a-thought we three would ever meet here? You, the savey man of the class; Rutile, the—the—I’ll be darned if I know what; and me the only one of the three who’s done a lick of work since we got out of the Academy—and then only because Uncle Sam gently but firmly refused to support me. But, say, Topham! How’d you get here? In command of a canal boat? Why don’t you speak up instead of making a quiet man break his rule against talking?”
Topham smiled. In fact, he had been smiling ever since he clasped Risdon’s hand, quite content to let the other rattle on unchecked. But at Risdon’s direct appeal, he began to speak, only to pause as a darkey servant thrust his head in the door.
Rutile glanced up. “Three beers, Caesar,” he ordered, and resumed his writing.
“Three beers!” protested Risdon, disgustedly. “Good Heavens! Rutile! Three beers! And you claim to be from Kentucky.” Then, seeing that the secretary was not listening, he turned again to Topham.
“Where’d you say you were going to?” he demanded.
“I didn’t say. But I’m on my way to Tokio as naval attaché. Leave here tomorrow night; join the Nevada at Brindisi Friday; go with her to Manila as watch officer and then by passenger steamer to Japan. Stopped over here a day to see Rutile.”
Caesar re-entered with the beer, but with him he brought a tall dark bottle and three small glasses. “Ain’t goin’ to offer beer to no navy officer or newspaper gen’mens”, he muttered. “Ain’t a-going to do it, nohow, massa Rutile.”