“Rawther not!” drawled Nick. “I fawncy he goes across every year and gets togged out in Bond Street. What ho, old top!”
“Well, I guess I’ll go back and pilot him down to supper,” said Bert. “Mind if I bring him down here afterwards, Guy? Or, say, you fellows come up, will you? I—I sort of funk the job of talking up to his level all evening!”
“You bet we’ll come,” agreed Nick. “I want to meet him. Something tells me that he and I have a lot of mutual acquaintances amongst royalty in dear old England.”
“Well, don’t come up there and act the fool,” warned Bert. “He’s new yet and not used to our simple, democratic ways.”
“Oh, I won’t shock him,” chuckled Nick. “Nothing like that, dear boy, ’pon honor. You’ll see that he and I will get along like a house on fire. Say, what’s his front name, the one you take hold by?”
“Hugh,” answered Bert from the doorway, “Hugh Brodwick Ordway. Some name, what?”
“Rawther!”
“Cut it,” laughed Guy, “or we’ll all be talking that way! I feel it coming on. We’ll come up after supper, Bert, and help you entertain, although when I’m going to get my things unpacked——”
“I’ll help you, Guy,” Nick volunteered. “I’m a remarkable little unpacker. A misplace for everything and everything misplaced, is my motto. Bye-bye, Bert. Give my love to Broadway—I should say Ordway. Tell him I’ll be around later and cheer him up!”