“If he has gone into that barroom, I'll have him out, no matter who is there!” growled Mac to himself as he made his way to the small apartment whither the gentlemen retired for a little private refreshment when the spirit moved, as it often did.
The door was ajar, and Charlie seemed to have just entered, for Mac heard a familiar voice call out in a jovial tone: “Come, Prince! You're just in time to help us drink Steve's health with all the honors.”
“Can't stop, only ran in to say good night, Van. Had a capital time, but I'm on duty and must go.”
“That's a new dodge. Take a stirrup cup anyway, and come back in time for a merry-go-rounder when you've disposed of the ladies,” answered the young host, diving into the wine cooler for another bottle.
“Charlie's going in for sanctity, and it doesn't seem to agree with him,” laughed one of the two other young men who occupied several chairs apiece, resting their soles in every sense of the word.
“Apron strings are coming into fashion the bluer the better hey, Prince?” added the other, trying to be witty, with the usual success.
“You'd better go home early yourself, Barrow, or that tongue of yours will get you into trouble,” retorted Charlie, conscious that he ought to take his own advice, yet lingering, nervously putting on his gloves while the glasses were being filled.
“Now, brother-in-law, fire away! Here you are, Prince.” And Steve handed a glass across the table to his cousin, feeling too much elated with various pleasurable emotions to think what he was doing, for the boys all knew Charlie's weakness and usually tried to defend him from it.
Before the glass could be taken, however, Mac entered in a great hurry, delivering his message in an abbreviated and rather peremptory form: “Rose is waiting for you. Hurry up!”
“All right. Good night, old fellows!” And Charlie was off, as if the name had power to stop him in the very act of breaking the promise made to himself.