Dryden reflected a moment. “You’ve written your article?” he asked, indicating the note-book.
“It’s all mapped out in my mind, and I’ve finished the introduction.”
“I won’t ask to see it because we trust you. But I’ll make a compact with you.” Dryden held out a cigar to his adversary and proceeded to light one for himself. “Supposing what the lady said referred to something which you have written there, would you agree to cut it out?”
Harrington looked gravely knowing. “You think you can tell what I have written?” he asked, tapping his note-book.
Dryden took a puff. “Very possibly not. I am merely supposing. But in case the substance of her criticism—for she did criticise—should prove to be almost word for word identical with something in your handwriting—would you agree?”
Harrington shrugged his shoulders. “Against the automobile as a stake, if it proves not to be?” he inquired by way of expressing his incredulity.
“Gladly.”
“Let it be rather against another luncheon with you as agreeable as this.”
“Done. I will write her exact language here on this piece of paper and then we will exchange copy.”
Harrington sat pleasantly amused, yet puzzled, while Dryden wrote and folded the paper. Then he proffered his note-book with nervous alacrity. “Read aloud until you come to the place,” he said jauntily.