“Not go! Why?”
“Because I am going back to town.”
“Are you upset, Franky? Is anything wrong? I’ve been rude, I suppose, and said something that put you out this morning.”
“No—oh no!”
“But I’m sure that must have been it. But really, old fellow, I was much obliged. Franky, you were quite right—it is as you say; so if I said anything when I was hipped, forgive me.”
“Dick, old fellow,” cried Pratt, grasping the extended hand, “don’t talk of forgiveness to me. I have been here too long; this idle life don’t suit me, and I’ve got to work.”
“Work, then, and help me through my troubles. I can’t spare you.”
“Dick, old fellow, I feel that I must go. Don’t ask me why.”
“No, I won’t ask you why,” said Trevor, eyeing him curiously; “but, to oblige me, stay over this Friday, and go with me to the dinner.”
Pratt hesitated a moment.