"I'm not very much up on floriculture, but this particular variety happens to be one of my favorites. The florists call it——"
"Yes?"
Chapter VII
The Whispering Gallery
The long afternoon went by, but we had accomplished nothing more than the consumption of an unlimited amount of tobacco.
"Certainly not convincing evidence," said Warriner with a final shrug of his shoulders. "Still my yellow rose is worth preserving along with the moth cocoon," and he put the pathetic dead flower carefully away in his empty cigarette case. For a minute or two the silence remained unbroken.
"I wonder if you would mind spending a few days here at the 'Hundred?'" I blurted out; suddenly I was aware that I had taken a strong liking to Chalmers Warriner.
"I've no end of things on hand," he answered, smiling cordially, "but I'll see what I can do. Suppose I run into Calverton, look over my mail, and return here around ten o'clock."