“I don’t know about that, Miss Cereal,” he says.
“But you will come?” she adds eagerly.
He tries to keep his feelings in subjection by remembering the strange companion with whom Dorothy sauntered about the Midway, and who certainly took upon himself all the airs of a lover. Only in this way can he subdue the sudden spasm of exaltation that sends the hot blood leaping through his veins at the solicitude of her voice.
“I promised, and unless something prevents me I shall be there, glad of the opportunity to meet your father.”
Then she says good night, and runs up the steps. A light burns in the hall. Mrs. Merrick lingers a minute to say a few words.
“I will keep my promise, depend upon it, young sir. Some time you may know my story, and perhaps you will believe I have not been wholly actuated by a love of money.”
Then she follows her young mistress up the steps. A servant has just opened the heavy door, and Aleck can see the handsome hall.
The young reveler on the seat beside the driver has reached the pavement.
“Beg pardon, gents, but is there room inside for a chap of my size? Devilish hard seat up there, you know. Here, driver, 's your pay,” handing him a bill with the air only a royal prince or a roysterer half seas over can assume.
Under these circumstances what can Aleck do—objections to the stranger paying would be useless, and possibly stir up his fighting blood, for men in his condition are exceedingly touchy. He feels an interest in the fellow, since he came to their relief in time of need, so they all enter the vehicle, giving the name of the hotel at which they stop. It chances that Aleck names the Sherman House, and the stranger bursts out with: