Out of pure astonishment he could neither move nor speak.
"All right--stay where you are!" cried Morris laughing.

"Pass it up to him, please." John Breen sprang from his chair with the alertness of a man who had been accustomed to follow his impulse.

In his joy over his friend's good fortune he forgot his embarrassment, forgot that he was a stranger; forgot that he alone, perhaps, was the only young man in the room whose life and training had not fitted him for the fullest enjoyment of what was passing around him; forgot everything, in fact, but that his comrade, his friend, his chum, had won the highest honors his Chief could bestow.
With cheeks aflame he darted to Morris's chair.
"Let me hand it to him, sir," he cried, all the love for his friend in his eyes, seizing the ring and plunging toward Garry, the shouts increasing as he neared his side and placed the prize in his hand.

Only then did Minott find his breath and his feet.
"Why, Mr.Morris!--Why, fellows!--Why, there's plenty of men in the office who have done more than I have to--" Then he sat down, the ring fast in his hand.
When the applause had subside--the young fellow's modesty had caused a fresh outburst--Morris again rose in his chair and once more the room grew still.
"Twelve o'clock, gentlemen," he said.

"Mr.Downey, you are always our stand-by in starting the old hymn." The diners--host and guests alike--rose to their feet as one man.