"Oh, hell!" said Duncan beneath his breath. He paused ungraciously enough.
"We've got to see a bit of one another, now we've met again, y'know. Wish you'd look me up—Half Moon Club'll get me 'most any time. We'll have to arrange to make a regular old-fashioned night of it, just for memory's sake."
Duncan nodded, edging past him. "I've memories enough," he said.
"Right-oh! Any reason at all, y'know, just so we have the night."
"Good enough," assented Duncan vaguely. He suffered his hand to be wrung with warmth. "I'll not forget—good-night." Then he pulled up and groaned, for Willy's insistence had frustrated his design: Kellogg had suddenly become alive to his attitude and hailed him over the heads of Long and Miller.
"Nat, I say! Where the devil are you going?"
"Over to the hotel," said Duncan.
"The deuce you are! What hotel?"
"The one I'm stopping at."
"Not on your life. You're not going just yet—I haven't had half a chance to talk to you. Robbins, take Mr. Duncan's things."