"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried:
"Jim, you dine with me!"
"The fact is—"
"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!"
"Immense!"
"Round up the boys—all the boys—the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?"
"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!"
"In half an hour at the Club."
"Done."
"Jim?"