"You are as dramatic as ever, Raney," I said.
"Shall I go and wait outside? You might answer my question."
"And in other respects you don't seemed to have changed." I looked him up and down and turned him to the light. His fingers as he shook hands were as hard and strong as steel cable; he was slender and wiry as a greyhound, with the big eyes, smooth features and bodily grace of a girl.
"You're trained down pretty fine," I said. "And your hair's as untidy as ever—my dear fellow! don't touch it! It's one of your charms. You have also reverted to a hybrid twang reminiscent of twelve years ago in a certain great public school——"
He handed his hat and coat to a page-boy and pointed to the dining-room door.
"I've had nothing to eat since breakfast, George."
"Two Hoola-Hoolas, please," I called out to a waiter. "In the strangers' room. Raney, it's the devil of a long time since I saw you last."
"Did you expect me?" he demanded, with a child's eagerness to find out whether his little piece of theatricality had succeeded.
"The very cart-horses of London expected you," I said. "I observed them with ribbons on their tails as I went to lunch with one Loring. 'It is the first of May,' I said. I suppose you'd like me to order you some dinner."