“Because it’s a hotel!” laughed Macloud. “Let’s go in to dinner—I’m hungry.”
The tall head-waiter received them like a host himself, and conducted them down the room to a small table. A moment later, the Weston party came in, with Montecute Mattison in tow, and were shown to one nearby, with Harvey’s most impressive manner.
An Admiral is some pumpkins in Annapolis, when he is on the active list. 127
Mrs. Weston and the young ladies looked over and nodded; Croyden and Macloud arose and bowed. They saw Miss Cavendish lean toward the Admiral and say a word. He glanced across.
“We would be glad to have you join us,” said he, with a man’s fine indifference to the fact that their table was, already, scarcely large enough for five.
“I am afraid we should crowd you, sir. Thank you!—we’ll join you later, if we may,” replied Macloud.
A little time after, they heard Mattison’s irritating voice, pitched loud enough to reach them:
“I wonder what Croyden’s doing here with Macloud?” he remarked. “I thought you said, Elaine, that he had skipped for foreign parts, after the Royster smash, last September.”
“I did say, Mr. Mattison, I thought he had gone abroad, but I most assuredly did not say, nor infer, that he had skipped, nor connect his going with Royster’s failure!” Miss Cavendish responded. “If you must say unjust and unkind things, don’t make other people responsible for them, please. Shoulder them yourself.”
“Good girl!” muttered Macloud. “Hand him another!” Then he shot a look at his friend.