He gave a final look at the repast and disappeared into the bedroom at the back. Presently the sound of splashing water told its own story.
At that moment the house door slammed, footsteps sounded in the hall, and there was a knock at Parmelee’s door. But Parmelee, rioting at the basin in the back room, heard nothing. After an interval the knocking was repeated. Then the knob turned and the door opened.
The visitor was a very erect, white-whiskered man of about fifty, possessing a degree of stoutness that set off to the best advantage his well-cut black coat, white waistcoat and gray trousers. His dark eyes gleamed with kindliness and humor.
He held his shining hat and his gloves in his hand, and looked questioningly about the room. Then the sound of Parmelee’s ablutions caught his ear, and he took a step forward.
“Is there any one at home?” he called.
Parmelee, in his shirt-sleeves, the water dripping from the end of his nose, came to the inner doorway, the towel clutched desperately in one hand, and stared with amazement.
“I beg your pardon, sir, for this intrusion,” the visitor said. “I knocked, and receiving no answer, took the liberty of entering unbidden. We old graduates lay claim to many privileges on class-day, you know; nothing is sacred to us.”
He paused. Parmelee grasped the towel more firmly, as if it were a weapon of defense to be used against the invader, and nodded silently. His gaze fell on the banquet, and amazement gave way to dismay.
“I escaped from my wife and daughter after much scheming,” continued the visitor, “in order to slip down here and have a look at this room. I haven’t seen it for—well, not since I graduated, and that was twenty-nine years ago this month.”
“Ah!” Parmelee had found his tongue. “You lived here while in college?”