Wycherley laughs at this, and hands his plate to the staring waiter with an aside “a little more of that delicious roast beef—and be sure to have it rare.”
“You visit the Cereal manse to-night, I believe, Aleck. I wonder if John will be there. Perhaps he and his father in times gone by have had a falling out, and Dorothy is patching up the peace between them. Very clever of her. She’s a girl in a thousand, and remembering who her mother was—begging your pardon, my dear boy, as she may yet be a mother-in-law to you—I am amazed and wonder where she got her sensible ways. Then there’s Bob Rocket—I know the man to a dot—he’ll be around, and if it should so happen that he receives his telegram in the midst of the festivities, he’ll arrest his man right there. Twenty millionaires wouldn’t awe him, nor would he respect the palace of the Czar of Russia. With the majesty of the law back of him he’d do his duty.”
“Then we’ll hope that his instructions, having been delayed so long, will continue to dally, at least until the evening is well spent. If Mr. Cereal is reconciled to his son, it would be too humiliating to have the boy arrested at his house. At any rate, I shall keep clear of it, and for Dorothy’s sake would like to see John get away.”
This absorbing topic has monopolized their conversation thus far, but having in a measure exhausted it, they branch out upon other subjects.
At length the dinner is ended. Aleck presses his companion to relate the stirring scene of the previous night, and is accommodated with a yarn that has many comical features to it, for the actor is a genius in discovering the ridiculous side of anything, though Craig declares he is certain the affair was anything but humorous to those concerned.
All the while the Canadian is planning as to how he may make his friend accept a loan, without hurting his feelings. In the end he decides that the best way to do is to go squarely at the matter, in a frank manner.
“Since you lost all you had in the fire, Claude, you must allow me to make you a little loan. There, not a word, sir—I shall feel insulted if you refuse”—passing over a fifty-dollar note.
Wycherley fumbles the bill with trembling fingers. “Great Heavens, Aleck,” he says huskily, “it’s been many a long day since I’ve held a bill like this in my hands. It makes me feel like something of importance. Bless you, my dear boy. I shall repay it if I live.”
Together they leave the dining room.
“Try a weed,” proposes Aleck; and as he draws the fragrant smoke Wycherley is fain to believe his morning sacrifice has met with its reward, heaped up and running over.