He rose and strolled to the window, trembling with inward excitement, but forcing himself to walk slowly, casually. He raised the window. The pavement was still wet and glistening, but overhead the stars winked down at him.
“Hello, it’s clearing off!” he announced “We might have a stroll later, before we turn in.”
“What for?” Horton asked unenthusiastically. “I’ve been on the jump all day. It is good enough for me right here.”
“Then what do you say to a little drink?” Storm heard the footsteps of a lone pedestrian approaching, and hurriedly closing the window, pulled down the shade. Horton was seated where the light played strongly on his face, and he would be plainly visible from the street. A passer-by glancing in would think nothing strange about seeing a man sitting quietly smoking there, but he might chance to remember the face; he might recall it later when a hue and cry was raised and pictures were printed in the newspapers. . . . “As long as you’re staying on here with me to-night another little nip or two won’t do you any harm. This is an occasion, you know!”
Rigidly as he held himself in control, there was a note of suppressed eagerness in his tone which the unsuspicious Horton misread.
“On with the dance!” he cried gaily. “I’m with you, old scout! Just one, though; got to have a clear head in the morning. Booze is a good thing to let alone in my business, but I know when I’ve had enough. Do you remember the time we got pickled in Dutch Jake’s, and you wanted to go and serenade the whole faculty?”
While he chattered on serenely Storm moved in and out bringing glasses, ice and a fresh siphon. He mixed as stiff a drink as he dared for his guest, a light one for himself, and raised his glass.
“To ourselves!” he exclaimed with a reckless laugh. “That’s the best toast in the world, Jack, and the most honest one. To us!”
“And our next meeting.” Horton drank, nor noticed that his host set his glass down untasted while a faint shudder swept over him. “Phew! but that’s a strong one! I need a little more fizz in that, old scout.” He reached for the siphon. “Say, what wouldn’t I give if we could all be together again, just once; the old crowd, I mean! There was Van Tries and Caldwell and Holworthy and Swain and McKnight. I wonder what has become of them all!”
“Holworthy is here in town; I run into him now and then.” Storm raised his glass slowly, watching the hand that held it. Steady as a die!