In two or three minutes Ben Todd, the editor, came in, long of legs and hunched of back, trailing his arms 248 like an ape, his handsome bearded face lit up in pleasantness and his keen brown eyes searching Jim curiously.
“Hello, Jim! Glad to see you! The boys must have miscued. I heard you had fallen off the water wagon.”
“And can’t a fellow climb back again as easily as he fell off?”
“Some can, but you generally take your own sweet time, my Wayward Boy. Still, I’m glad to see you. What brought you in?”
Jim swung round in the chair. “I want you to act as umpire for me in a little matter. Are you willing?”
“Of course I am! What is it?”
“Why,––here comes the other fellow,” said Jim, as the handle of the door turned and the gaudy, resplendent and immaculate Percival strutted in, bringing with him an odour of pomade and scented soap.
Ben Todd looked over in surprise.
“Aw,––good day, gentlemen! Someone ’phoned me beastly hurriedly.”
“Sit down, Mr. Hannington––Mr. DeRue Hannington,” invited Ben. “Guess you were the one who ’phoned, Jim?”