Now, Charley had seen Mr. Smith; our grandfather not. Here was a chance. He would throw the responsibility upon Charley. In this particular case he was especially glad to do so, for there was undoubtedly an air of mystery surrounding Mr. Smith, and mystery cannot but arouse suspicion.
Our grandfather continued: “H’m? What do you say? For a week or so?”
There was positively something timid in the way he glanced at Charley out of the corners of his eyes. And now you may dimly discern what was most probably Charley’s motive for refraining from alluding to his having himself invited the Don to Elmington. In a spirit of affectionate malice he had deliberately entrapped his old friend into making the proposition. So I must believe, at least.
“By all means,” replied Charley, with a cordiality that surprised Mr. Whacker.
“What! Do you say so?” cried our grandfather, rubbing his hands delightedly; and taking out his keys, he began to unlock his desk. “How should the letter be addressed?” continued he, turning and looking at Charley. His face reddened a little as he detected an imperfectly suppressed smile in Charley’s eyes. He was somewhat afraid of that smile.
“What are you grinning at?”
“I grinning?”
“Yes, you! Didn’t you say we should invite him?”
“Certainly.”
“Then what’s the matter?”