Morris Leighton
“Never!” protested Leighton. “The rest of us are sliding on the banana skins of time—how is that?—right into the grave; while you stand by like the god of youth and mock us.”
Merriam saluted them with his glass and drank it out.
“Captain Pollock has been telling us about the Philippines,” said another one of the group. “We’ve been trying to find out whether he’s an imperialist or how about it, but he won’t tell.”
“That shows his good judgment,” said Merriam.
“It shows that I want to keep my job,” declared Pollock, cheerfully. “And I’ll be cashiered now for certain, if I don’t get back to the Arsenal. Major Congrieve expects me for dinner.”
Baker, who had brought Pollock to the club, shook himself out of his chair and the others rose.
“I’ll see that you find your way back to the reservation,” said Baker.
“That’s very kind of you. And I’m glad to have met you, Mr. Merriam.”