"Come, come, Señors," he said with a hiccup, "I don't call this sociable at all. Here we are enjoying ourselves in the room yonder, and you keep away from us as if you don't desire our company. It isn't the sort of thing to make us friendly."
He seized Max by the arm, and attempted to lead him in the direction of the door, but the other shook him off.
"You must excuse me," he said. "I don't feel up to it to-night. Besides, if the noise you are making is any criterion, you are getting along well enough without us."
The other's mood had changed by this time. He turned and faced them, supporting himself by the verandah rails.
"I suppose you don't want to offend me on the first evening of this mem—mem—(hic) memorable journey?" he said.
"I have not the least desire to offend you," Max retorted. "Nevertheless, I am not coming in. It is useless for you to ask me."
Moreas thereupon transferred his attentions to Bertram, who proved equally intractable.
"Very well," he said at last, when he had tried to arrive at a proper understanding of the position; "if you won't come I suppose you won't, so I'll go myself, and leave you to conspire against me in peace."
With that he took himself off, and the two men were left to construe his last speech according to their inclinations.
"That is a cur who will require some watching," said Bertram, when they were alone once more together. "Thank goodness, however, I'm up to most of his tricks."