Dink Stover temporized, confronted with the awful ordeal of arraying himself in his Sunday prison garb and stiffly traversing the long, tricky, rug-strewn hall of the Story's, with the chance of suddenly showing his whole person to a dozen inquisitive eyes. He let the first Sunday pass without a qualm, as being too unnecessarily close and familiar. On the second Sunday he decided to wait until he had received the suit made of goods purchased at a miraculous bargain from the unsuspecting Yankee drummer. The third Sunday he completely forgot his duties as a man of fashion. On the fourth Sunday, in a panic, he bound his neck in a shackling high collar, donned his new suit, which looked as lovely as everything that is new and untried can look, and went post-haste in search of Hungerford as a companion in misery and a post to which to cling. To his horror, Hungerford had paid his visit, and felt very doubtful as to the propriety of repeating it before having been again fed.
Dink returned for McNab or Hunter as the lesser of two evils. They were both out. Being in stiff and circumstantial attire, the afternoon was manifestly lost. With a sort of desperate hope for some miraculous evasion, he set out laggingly for the Story mansion, revolving different plans.
"I might leave a card at the door," he thought to himself, "and tell the girl that my room-mate was desperately ill—that I had just run in for a moment because I wanted them to know, to know—to know what?"
The idea expired noiselessly. He likewise rejected the idea of stalking the door Indian fashion, and slipping the card under the crack as if he had rung and not been heard.
"After all, they might be out," he thought at last, hopefully. "I'll just go by quietly and see if I can hear anything."
But at the moment when he came abreast the steps a carriage drove up, the door opened, and Judge Story and his wife came down. Stover came to a balky stop, hastily snatching away his derby.
"Why, bless me if it isn't Mr. Stover," said the Judge instantly. "Dressed to kill, too. Never expected to see you until I went around myself, with an injunction. How did you screw up your courage?"
Mrs. Story came to his rescue, smiling a little at his tell-tale face.
"Don't stop on my account," said Stover, very much embarrassed. "It's a beautiful day for a ride, beautiful."