"The family's in bed. Wait till
we get to my part of the house."
When they were there, with doors closed and the lights on, Craig
exhaled his breath as noisily as a blown swimmer. "What a day!
What a day!" he half-shouted, dropping on the divan and thrusting
his feet into the rich and rather light upholstery of a near-by
chair.
Grant eyed the feet gloomily. He was proud of his furniture and as
careful of it as any old maid.
"Go ahead, change your clothes," cried Josh. "I told your motorman
not to go away."
"What do you mean?" Arkwright demanded, his temper boiling at the
rim of the pot.
"I told him before you got out. You see, we're going to New York
to-night--or rather this morning. Train starts at one o'clock. I
met old Roebuck at the White House to-night--found he was going by
special train--asked him to take us."
"Not I," said Arkwright. "No New York for me. I'm busy to-morrow.
Besides, I don't want to go."
"Of course you don't," laughed Craig, and Arkwright now noted that
he was in the kind of dizzy spirits that most men can get only by
drinking a very great deal indeed. "Of course you don't. No more
do I. But I've got to go--and so have you.
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