People arrived slowly and it was after nine before the slightest evidence that anything like a programme had been arranged came into view. Abner, by reason of this delay, would have had serious doubts of any real interest in his art if a number of ladies had not plied him in the interval with various little compliments and attentions. He found things to say in reply; he also engaged in converse with a number of gentlemen, who possibly had slight regard for literature but who could not help respecting his size and sincerity. He loomed up impressively in his frock-coat and steel-gray scarf, and nobody, as in the satiric East, was heard to comment on his lack of conformity with the customs of "society."
"Tkh!" said Whyland. "You have come again without your overcoat, they tell me."
The lake wind was fiercely hectoring the bare elm-trees before the house, and the electric globes registered their tortures on the wide reach of the curving roadway.
Abner tossed his head carelessly, in proud boast of his own robustness.
"What's three blocks?" he asked.
"Come into the dining-room and have something," said his host.
Abner shrank back. "You know I never take wine."
"Wine!" cried Whyland. "You want something different from wine. You want a good hot whisky——"
"No," said Abner. "No."
The male guests were mostly professional men and representatives of great corporate interests. They talked together in low undertones about familiar concerns during their half-hour or so of grace.
"I see you have begun stringing your wires," said one of them to Whyland.
"We are meeting with them all over town."