I haven't seen him for four years." "Better come to-night then." "No-o," began Bertram, with obvious reluctance.

"It's already nine o'clock, and--" "Nine o'clock!" cut in Seaver, with a broad grin.

"Since when has your limit been nine o'clock?
I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got--Oh, I remember.

I met another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright--and say, he's some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days.
Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now--son and heir, fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings.

But, I say, Bertie, doesn't she let you out--_any_ ?" "Nonsense, Seaver!" flared Bertram in annoyed wrath.
"Well, then, why don't you come to-night?
If you want to see Jenkins you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow." For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned squarely about with an air of finality.
"Is he?
Well, then, perhaps I will," he said.