“Seven, sir.”
“Very well. My compliments in return to Eleanor and I will be ready at eight.”
John betrayed wonder. Barnes reviewed his speech. Then he himself betrayed even more wonder.
“Did you hear, John?” he demanded sternly, in a clumsy attempt to retrieve himself. “My compliments to my aunt,” he paused, “and I will be ready at eight.”
“Yes, sir.”
Barnes unconsciously looked about for his dress-suit case. Then he remembered that he had checked it to the next village, thinking at first to ride through. He did not have so much as a razor. He glanced at John’s smooth-shaven face, hesitated, and then asked,
“John—didn’t I leave a razor behind me? Seems to me I remember a black-handled one. If you could find it—”
Now John was in many respects an admirable man in his calling. If he was positive no razor had been left, he had at least a razor of his own.
“I will see if I can find it, sir,” he said.
He was back in five minutes with the entire outfit which he placed upon the dresser without a word. Barnes was immensely pleased with his cleverness, while John, who had been the really clever one, remained impassive. Furthermore, being in high good humor at the success of the ruse which had saved him from the humiliation of borrowing from the man, Barnes leaped from his bed so suddenly that John jumped half way to the door.