“Give you lessons at a reasonable rate,” murmured Archie.
Mr. Brewster regarded his young relative with a lowering eye.
“What’s the matter, father darling?” asked Lucille. “You seem upset.”
“I am upset!” Mr. Brewster snorted. “Some people have got a nerve!” He glowered forbiddingly at an inoffensive young man in a light overcoat who had just entered, and the young man, though his conscience was quite clear and Mr. Brewster an entire stranger to him, stopped dead, blushed, and went out again—to dine elsewhere. “Some people have got the nerve of an army mule!”
“Why, what’s happened?”
“Those darned McCalls have registered here!”
“No!”
“Bit beyond me, this,” said Archie, insinuating himself into the conversation. “Deep waters and what not! Who are the McCalls?”
“Some people father dislikes,” said Lucille. “And they’ve chosen his hotel to stop at. But, father dear, you mustn’t mind. It’s really a compliment. They’ve come because they know it’s the best hotel in New York.”
“Absolutely!” said Archie. “Good accommodation for man and beast! All the comforts of home! Look on the bright side, old bean. No good getting the wind up. Cherrio, old companion!”