"Hamilton! To-night?"
"Not to-night. I am lecturing to the West Orange Daughters of Minerva to-night on The Modern Drama. Some other time."
"Then to-night," said George, blushing faintly. "I think I may as well just stroll round Seventy-Ninth Street way and—er—well, just stroll round."
"What is the good of that?"
"Well, I can look at the house, can't I?"
"Young blood!" said Hamilton Beamish indulgently. "Young blood!"
He poised himself firmly on his No-Jars, and swung the dumb-bell in a forceful arc.
5
"Mullett," said George.
"Sir?"