"——Doesn't go with these duds, you mean?" Hammer chuckled as he finished the other's hesitating sentence. "Never mind—you should worry, Harcourt! Much obliged for the tenner, just the same; all you have to do is to show up and see what you find. Seven-thirty suit you?"
"Very well, thanks," murmured Harcourt, and so the colloquy ended—in amused and rather interested toleration on the part of the sunfish, and in bewildered doubt on that of the Englishman.
At seven-thirty that evening Harcourt received another shock, and this time a greater one. For after he stepped into the big dining-room at Prince's and beckoned the stately head-waiter, that individual arrived with the calm information that Mr. Hammer was waiting.
"Er—you know Mr. Hammer, Bucks?"
"Quite well, sir," responded Bucks, and Harcourt followed in subdued amazement.
He was led to a table, from which a man in evening dress sprang to meet him, hand extended. For a moment the sorely-doubting Englishman did not recognize the sunfish, until he took in the hard grey eyes, the tanned features, the keen incisive lines of the face.
Then he recovered himself and went through the form of greeting stiffly; but Hammer had no intention of letting him off so easily.
"It was rather a low-down trick, wasn't it?" grinned the American cheerfully. "However, we'll have an explanation all around. Poor chap, your face was a picture this morning when I announced that we'd dine here!"
"I must apologize, of course, my dear chap," returned Harcourt ruefully; then, unable to resist the infectious humour of the other, he broke into a laugh and the incident was closed.
In truth, Cyrus Hammer was well calculated to draw a second glance, for not only did his evening clothes fit him impeccably, but he wore them with ease and grace which made him to the full as distingué as his aristocratic companion.