“I’ll do it,” MacClay promised, and then Dick went to the door to watch for Larry’s coming, knowing pretty well the Donovan disposition to break and run at the most remote first view of anything like a social function.
For the purpose Dick had in mind, it was lucky that he was waiting at the door when Larry turned in from the street. Having been so carefully ignored in the invitation-giving, Larry knew nothing about the small “informal” at the Samovar. But like the war horse in the Bible, he scented the battle from afar just about as soon as he left the sidewalk, and Dick’s unworded prophecy that he would duck and run would have had its fulfilment if the watcher at the door hadn’t chased out and grabbed him.
“No, you don’t,” Dick laughed; “I was laying for you, you old dodger.”
“But what is it?” Larry wanted to know. “And where do I come in?”
“By the front door, if you’re asking me. I was afraid you’d forget and not come at all.”
“If it’s some social doings, I wish I had forgotten. You know well enough that I’m no earthly good at that sort of thing.”
“I know you’re going to be good at this one. Come on in and take your medicine like mamma’s little man.” And Larry had to go, because Dick had such a firm grip on him that a frantic wrestling match was about the only thing that offered any chance of escape.
Now, with Richard Maxwell, junior, a purpose usually held much more than was suffered to appear on the surface. From the moment at the close of the foot-ball practice when he had discovered that Larry was left out of the invitation list, he had been plotting like the villain in a play, and thus far there had been no hitch. What was particularly needed was an audience of sufficient size, and this he had secured by taking it upon himself to add handsomely to MacClay’s biddings, telling as many of the men as he could reach in the time afforded that they owed it to MacClay to come around and do honor to his guests.
Therefore and wherefore it was a pretty well crowded club-room that Larry was presently dragged into, and Dick didn’t give him a moment in which to cool his heels—or his courage. Almost before he knew what was happening, Larry found himself shaking hands with a tall, well-preserved gentleman with a mop of graying hair which looked as if it might once have belonged to a foot-ball captain, and the gentleman was saying, evidently following up something that Dick had said:
“So you’re that Donovan, are you? Well, now—this is a pleasure that I’ve been promising myself ever since last summer. Why did you run away without giving us a chance to thank you for the splendid thing you and Dick did when our Pullman broke loose?”