Paul’s eyes twinkled as he vanished through the doorway.
“Never heard of such a thing,” mused the Doctor, “bringing a trunk to a musicale. Must be some mistake! Benson! I say, Benson! Show him next door.”
“Not yet I hope,” and amid shouts of laughter in rushed two fellows,—Paul bringing Henri Semple—“Harry”—of all their musical friends the one most welcome and opportune.
The Doctor was delighted, and gave him a good squeeze—no time for much else.
“Benson! put Mr. Semple’s trunk in his own room, you know the one I mean; and now, Harry, if you don’t get inside that trunk quickly as possible the state of the country will not be safe, an invasion is threatened at any minute. Put on your regimentals at once, and help us out.”
Semple, who understood the Doctor’s lingo from many years back, took in the situation at a glance. He had hardly time to laugh about the Doctor’s being “the same old chappie as ever,” when he was literally thrust towards the stairway, to follow the trunk, and put on his evening clothes.
The episode had been one of Paul’s agreeable surprises so often had in store for the Doctor.
Semple’s name had appeared upon the passenger list of an ocean flyer just arrived. Paul sought him by telephone, caught him, and insisted upon his coming. Semple, already in traveler’s shape, had “hustled” to reach his old friends. The time was short, but Harry in true American fashion had “got there”—that was all, with the regimentals ready to be put on.
It is not necessary to produce the bachelor’s visiting list and mark off all those who honored the occasion with their presence. Paul always made it a point to have plenty of men on hand at his entertainments; whether at chit-chat-musicale or conversational game of whist, all went off with a rush. Those who took their pleasure more seriously were furnished excellent opportunity in the library, while the conversational music-racket progressed in the parlor.
The trio, Doctor, Paul and Semple, were already standing in line, like three serenaders in white waistcoats, when Mrs. Maxwell was ushered in. She had kindly consented to act as matron, knowing all so well; in fact had entertained both Paul and Semple at her picturesque cottage, “The Kedge.” Her vivacious presence at once brought with it a breezy atmosphere from the romantic coast of Maine, where “The Kedge” stood perched like a barnacle upon a boulder, and the winds wafted white spray falling like a lace mantle upon dahlias and nasturtiums at her feet.