“Don’t think so. We’ll probably eat in town. Can’t you come along?”
“Maybe; if Davy doesn’t show up meanwhile.”
“All right; meet us at the Touraine at seven. If you’re not there by a quarter after——”
“Don’t wait. It’ll mean that Davy has woke up in time to get back here. So long, Larry.”
The other waved the package in his hand, replaced his hat and hurried across the street, finally disappearing around the corner of Gray’s. John looked after him with a broad smile.
“Fancy Larry in the rôle of mentor to the young! Well——”
He stretched his arms over his head again, turned and surveyed the room. Recollecting his bag, he went to the door for it and returning caught sight of several letters on the floor. He gathered them up and went back to the window. Two of them proved to be circulars, one was a bill, a third was a note from the head football coach asking John to call on him, and the fourth bore the inscription,
“Return after five days to Corliss & Groom, Washington, D. C.”
John’s face betrayed curiosity as he opened this. Leaning against the casement he read it through. Curiosity gave place to surprise, surprise to alarm, alarm to consternation. He sucked hard at the empty pipe, stared blankly into the street and reread the letter. The writer was an old friend of his father and, to a lesser degree, of himself; a Harvard graduate of some twenty years ago, and now a successful lawyer in Washington. The portions of the letter responsible for John’s changes of expression were these: