"I suspect he did."
Duncan hesitated a bit longer. "Anyhow," he said suddenly, "somebody ought to get after him and make him see the thing the right way."
"S'pose you try it, Mr. Duncan?" I suggested maliciously, as we went up the walk.
He stopped at the door. "Perhaps I shall," he said slowly.
"I'd advise you not to. The last man that tried it has no desire to repeat the experiment."
"Who was he?"
"An old fool named Homer Littlejohn."
Duncan put out his hand. "Shake!" he insisted. "We'll talk this over another time."
We went in very quietly, lit our candles, and with elaborate care avoided the home-made burglar-alarm (a complicated arrangement of strings and tinpans on the staircase, which Miss Carpenter insists on maintaining ever since Roland Barnette missed a dollar bill and insisted his pocket had been picked on Main Street) and so mounted to our rooms. As we were entering (our doors adjoin) a thought delayed my good-night.
"By the way, did you get your invitation to Josie Lockwood's party, Mr. Duncan? I happened to see it on the hall table this evening."