“It’s a big chance,” Horton responded doubtfully. “I suppose it sounds foolish to you, but I’ve learned to play safe. Still, if it is only five minutes——”
He picked up the bag and started for the closet. Storm watched him stow it carefully away with a smile of triumph. The fool was taking such pains—for him! He put on his own coat and then caught up Horton’s. The felt hat which the latter had worn rolled to the floor, limp and sodden.
“I say, your hat is drenched!” He could scarcely keep the note of exultation from sounding in his voice. The last obstacle removed! Everything was playing into his hands; he couldn’t fail! “I told you that your umbrella leaked! Just reach up on the top shelf there and get a golf cap. There is a stack of my old ones up there, and none of my hats would fit you. There is no sense in getting a cold in the head from wearing that wet thing, and you’ll have to get it reblocked before train time to-morrow. It’s a mess.”
“It sure is!” Horton eyed it ruefully and reaching up into the closet brought out a golf cap of thin, dark blue cloth. Storm himself locked the closet door and held out the key.
“You’ll feel safer if you’ve got it yourself,” he remarked. “Now come on.”
Horton dropped the key in his vest pocket and then drew on the cap with a ludicrous grimace at his reflection in the hall mirror.
“I look like a bally yachtsman!” he commented. “I suppose I’ll have to go in for golf and all the rest of it if I land in right with the Mid-Eastern Consolidated and hitch up with the little girl, eh, what?”
“You’d be a shark at it, too.” Storm switched off the lights and opened the door, stepping aside for his guest to precede him. “I don’t play any more, but it’s a great little game.”
As Horton crossed the threshold Storm’s hand closed over the head of the heavy cane, and he drew it out of the stand. Then the door closed behind them.