Lord James leaned over the table to grasp Blake's hand.
"Gad, old man!" he said. "Just in time for you to go to the ball."
Griffith paused in his swift checking of Blake's final computations.
"Ball? Not on your sweet life! He's going to bed."
"You promised to go, Tom," said Lord James.
"Did I?" replied Blake. "Well, then, of course I'm going."
"Of course!" jeered Griffith. "It's no use arguing against a mule.
Can't help but wish you hadn't reminded him, Mr. Scarbridge."
"The change will do him good," argued Lord James.
"I'm in for it, anyway," said Blake. "Only thing, I wish I could get some sleep, in between. Well, here's for a good hot bath and a square meal. That'll set me up."
Griffith shook his head. "I'm not so sure. What you need is twelve hours on your back."
That he was right the Englishman had to admit himself with no little contrition before the ball was half over.