“Well, Betty has a rich aunt in a lunatic asylum. And then I’m making money, you know—and the old boy will have to relent in the end. And we’re having a very good time in the meanwhile, you know.”
“You can’t be very much in love,” said Montague—to which his brother replied cheerfully that they were as much in love as they felt like being.
This was on the train Monday morning. Oliver observed that his brother relapsed into a brown study, and remarked, “I suppose you’re going back now to bury yourself in your books. You’ve got to give me one evening this week for a dinner that’s important.”
“Where’s that?” asked the other.
“Oh, it’s a long story,” said Oliver. “I’ll explain it to you some time. But first we must have an understanding about next week, also—I suppose you’ve not overlooked the fact that it’s Christmas week. And you won’t be permitted to do any work then.”
“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed the other.
“Nothing else is possible,” said Oliver, firmly. “I’ve made an engagement for you with the Eldridge Devons up the Hudson—”
“For the whole week?”
“The whole week. And it’ll be the most important thing you’ve done. Mrs. Winnie’s going to take us all in her car, and you will make no end of indispensable acquaintances.”
“Oliver, I don’t see how in the world I can do it!” the other protested in dismay, and went on for several minutes arguing and explaining what he had to do. But Oliver contented himself with the assurance that where there’s a will, there’s a way. One could not refuse an invitation to spend Christmas with the Eldridge Devons!