Tommy, you're lost! I mean you're as good as married now!" "You think so ?" "I _know_ it! There you sit, savoring your Burgundy, idling over a cigar, happy, care free, fancy free, at liberty, as you believe, to roam off anywhere at any time and continue the eternal hunt for pleasure! That's what you _think_! Ha! Tommy, I know better! That's not the sort of man _I_ see sitting on the same chair where you are now sprawling in such content! I see a doomed man, already in the shadow of the altar, wasting his time unsuspiciously while Chance comes whirling into the city behind a Long Island locomotive, and Fate, the footman, sits outside ready to follow him, and Destiny awaits him no matter what he does, what he desires, where he goes, wherever he turns to-night! Destiny awaits him at his journey's end!" "Very fine," said Kerns admiringly.

"Too bad it's due to the Burgundy." "Never mind what my eloquence is due to," retorted Gatewood, "the fact remains that this is probably your last bachelor dinner.

Kerns, old fellow! Here's to her! Bless her! I--I wish sincerely that we knew who she is and where to send those roses.

Anyway, here's to the bride!" He stood up very gravely and drank the toast, then, reseating himself, tapped the empty glass gently against the table's edge until it broke.
"You are certainly doing your part well," said Kerns admiringly.

Then he swallowed the remainder of his Burgundy and looked up at the club clock.
"Eleven," he said with regret.