"I will call a conveyance for you," said the defeated M. F. H. "I shall never forgive you, Dicky."
"Yes, you will, Teddy. A loving-cup, the next time we meet at the club, will mellow everything."
Quarter of an hour later Miss Hawthorne and I, wrapped in buffalo-robes, our feet snugly stowed away in straw, slid away, to the jangle and quarrel of sleighbells, toward Moriarty's Hollywood Inn. The moon shone; not a cloud darkened her serene and lovely countenance. The pearly whiteness of the world would have aroused the poetry in the most sordid soul; and far, far away to the east the black, tossing line of the sea was visible.
"What a beautiful night!" I volunteered.
"The beginning of the end."
"The beginning of the end? What does that mean?"
"Why, when you first spoke to me, it was about the weather."
"Oh, but this isn't going to be the end; this is the true beginning of all things."
"I wish I could see it in that light; but we can not see beauty in anything when hunger lies back of the eyes. I haven't had anything to eat, save that single apple, for hours and hours. I was so excited at Mouquin's that I ate almost nothing."
"You are hungry? Well, we'll fix that when we get to Moriarty's. I'll find a way of waking him up, in case he's asleep, which I doubt. There will be cold chicken and ham and hot coffee."