“Don’t you recognize me?”
“No, but come and have a glass of wine all the same. I know you are a friend of mine.”
“Sure.”
The detective stepped on the piazza and Atwood grasped him and dragged him into the house under the gaslight, and then exclaimed, as he cordially shook the detective’s hand:
“Why, Murray, you rascal! where on earth did you come from? Here, have a glass of wine.”
The party were all pretty well under the influence of wine, but none of them were too far over, only full of wine and fun. Murray was not a drinking man as a rule, but after his long walk he thought he would take one glass, and he did so, and ate several sandwiches, as there were quite a number on a plate.
“Well, old man, where did you come from?”
“Oh, I had business a little way over, and started to walk to the depot, but lost my way.”
“Well, you will stay here to-night.”
“You bet I will.”