"Well, that's what we decided last night when we threshed things out. Go ahead. Bring the remains round to lunch, though. The Roundheads at one. It's eleven now, and you've got two hours for the job of placating the president. Come sure; for I shall be in a stew till I know how you two get on together."
"All right," Jack responded dispiritedly.
"Good luck," Jerry said, stretching out his hand.
"Thank you," Jack returned, giving Tab a hearty grasp. "So long."
"One o'clock," Jerry repeated; and with a buoyant wave of the hand, he went on his way up State Street.
"Suppose he'll weep when he sees the Frog Pond," muttered Jack to himself with a wan smile. "Wish I felt half as chipper."
He went to the elevator, and pressed the electric button. The big cage came down, the boy clashed the door, and Jack went in as he might have mounted the steps to a scaffold.
"Mr. Drake's," he said briefly, moistening his lips, and wondering why they seemed so stiff and dry.
Deposited on the proper floor, he tucked the brown log-book more tightly under his arm, and approached his uncle's office.