“I’ll think it over,” answered Banneker, as Densmore entered.
“Come and see me at the office,” invited Masters as he shambled pursily away.
Across the dining-table Densmore said to his guest: “So the Old Boy wants to put you up here.”
“Yes.”
“That means a sure election.”
“But even if I could afford it, I’d get very little use of the club. You see, I have only one day off a week.”
“It is a rotten business, for sure!” said Densmore sympathetically. “Couldn’t you get on night work, so you could play afternoons?”
“Play polo?” Banneker laughed. “My means would hardly support one pony.”
“That’ll be all right,” returned the other nonchalantly. “There are always fellows glad to lend a mount to a good player. And you’re going to be that.”
The high lust of the game took and shook Banneker for a dim moment. Then he recovered himself. “No. I couldn’t do that.”