“I thought you’d never come,” said Gerald gayly. “Put your kitty-coat on and don’t stand there staring. You’re going to dinner with me to-night.”
“No, thanks, Gerald,” said Dan. “I—I don’t feel up to it.”
“You will when you get there,” replied Gerald, seizing the fur coat and holding it invitingly open.
“I’m tired,” demurred the other. But nevertheless he worked his arms into the sleeves and Gerald clapped a cap onto his head:
“Come on. The car will be here in a minute. We’ll take a spin first and get up an appetite.”
Dan’s face lighted. An automobile ride sounded good. “But I’ll have to see Collins and get leave,” he said undecidedly.
“No, you won’t. That’s all fixed. There’s the car now. Come on!” On the way downstairs Gerald said: “By the way, I asked Tooker to come along and bring another fellow. You don’t mind, do you? I thought we might as well fill the car while we were about it.”
Dan did mind, but didn’t say so. In front of Clarke stood a big black touring car, its searchlights already casting white floods of light along the gravel drive. The chauffeur left the seat as the boys came down the steps and stood at attention, touching his cap to them.
“Hello, Higgins!” said Dan. “How are you?”
“Nicely, Mr. Dan. You’re well, sir, I hope?”