A number of fair promenaders were facing the keen mountain night wind in wraps and furs.

Demorest had replaced his coat, but his boots were red with dust, and as he ascended the steps he could see that he was eyed with some superciliousness by the guests and with considerable suspicion by the servants.

One of the latter was approaching him with an insolent smile when a figure darted from the vestibule, and, brushing the waiter aside, seized Demorest's two hands in his and held him at arm's length.
"Demorest, old man!" "Stacy, old chap!" "But where's your team?
I've had all the spare hostlers and hall-boys listening for you at the gate.

And where's Barker?
When he found you'd given the dead-cut to the railroad--HIS railroad, you know--he loped over to Boomville after you." Demorest briefly explained that he had walked by the old road and probably missed him.

But by this time the waiters, crushed by the spectacle of this travel-worn stranger's affectionate reception by the great financial magnate, were wildly applying their brushes and handkerchiefs to his trousers and boots until Stacy again swept them away.
"Get off, all of you! Now, Phil, you come with me.