Early the next morning the two boys went to Little Rock. Arthur invited four of the most desirable of his acquaintances to dinner that evening, and luckily they all accepted.
Most of Checkers' day was taken up in fulfilling missions for Pert and her mother. He returned to the hotel late in the afternoon, and had barely time to don his new dress-suit and join Arthur in the rotunda before their guests arrived.
They were jolly good fellows, all of them. Checkers was duly presented, and after a preliminary cocktail the party adjourned to the private dining-room, where a round table was prettily laid for six. Checkers felt apprehensive for Arthur, when he noticed three different glasses at each plate; but Arthur took early occasion to state that he was "on the water-wagon," and he hoped that the boys would "not let it make any difference with them, or with the gayety of the evening"—and it did n't. After the first edge of their hunger was turned the jollity grew apace. Checkers in his happiest vein related numberless humorous anecdotes, among them his experience of Remorse and the gold piece. Each of them told his particular pet joke, and all were boisterously applauded.
"Now, waiter," exclaimed Arthur, suddenly righting his down-turned champagne glass, "fill them up again all around, and give me some. Gentlemen, I want to propose a double toast, and I 'll ask you to drink it standing—a bumper." All arose expectantly. "Let us drink," he said, "to the health and happiness of the sweetest, fairest, most lovable girl God ever put upon this earth—it is needless to name her. Let us also drink to the health and prosperity of the thrice-fortunate man who has won her love—Mr. Campbell, your health." He touched his wine to his lips; the others drained their glasses, and all sat down.
There was an expectant silence. Checkers felt the blood go surging to his brain, while his heart seemed to sink like lead within him. He felt powerless to rise, although he knew that all were awaiting his response. The silence became painful. "Speech," murmured some one. "Speech," echoed the others. With a superhuman effort he managed to arise, and grasping a full glass of water, drained it. "I 'll tell you, boys," he said huskily, "here's where I 'd put up the talk of my life, if I could; but it's like it was that day they declared all bets off—the occasion 's too much for me. I feel it all—I feel it in my heart," he continued earnestly. "I 'm obliged to Arthur for his motion, and to you all for making it unanimous. I know that I 'm lucky, so lucky that I can hardly believe my good fortune myself. Half the time I think that I must be asleep, and trying to 'cash a hop-dream.' I 've been ready to get married for a couple of years—I 've had everything but the stuff and the girl; I was ready to furnish the groom all right; but I 've always had a feeling that I could n't have much respect for a girl that would marry me if she was 'onto' me—every fellow feels the same, or ought to. And so when I find I have drawn a prize girl, who, as Arthur says, is 'the fairest and sweetest God ever put on this earth,' and it's true, it jars me, boys; it does, on the dead. I feel like the only winner in a poker-game, as though I ought to apologize for it—and I do, with about the same regret.
"Well, I 've had my hard luck, and 'played out the string,' and now that things seem to be coming my way, I 'm going to enjoy myself while it lasts. 'Life is short, and we 're a long time dead.' That's an old saying, but it's a good one. Boys, I hope you 'll all be as happy as I am when it comes your turn, and may it come soon. Here 's how." He lifted his glass, which in the mean time the waiter had filled, and, smiling around the circle, tossed off his wine in unison with the others and sat down.
There was the usual clapping and cheering, after which Checkers asked their attention for a moment more. "I want to sign two of you fellows for groomsmen," he said. "I wish I needed four, I 'd like to have you all; but Pert said 'two,' and what Pert says goes. Now, how shall we decide it?"
"Why not match for it!" suggested one of them.
"Good idea!" exclaimed Checkers; "you four match nickels, odd man out. until two are left—come on, get busy."
On the first trial, two called "heads," and two "tails." "No business," said Checkers. On the second trial, three called "heads" and one "tails." "Tough luck, old man," said Checkers to the one; "I wanted you particularly." At the first essay of the three remaining, all showed "heads" up; at the second two of them "switched" to "tails," while the third kept "heads"—thus deciding the matter.