a kind of dignified, solemn way of lookin', too, with eyes wide
open, same's a judge chargin' a jury.

"You'll never need a bucket," says he.

Just then I heard something that sounded like pouring water from a jug,
and I looks around, to see Mr. Gordon turnin' plum color and holdin'
himself by the short ribs. I knew what had happened then. The nutty one
had handed me the lemon.

"Scratch me off," says I. "I'm in the wrong class. If there's to be any
more Bloomingdale repartee, just count me out."

Naw, I wa'n't sore, or nothin' like that. If anyone can get free
vawdyville from me I'll write 'em an annual pass; but I couldn't see the
use of monkeyin' with that bug-house boarder. Say, if you was payin' for
five rooms and bath when you went on the road, like Mr. Gordon was,
would you stand for any machinery-loft butt-in like that? I was waitin'
for the word to pile Sir Peter on the baggage truck, Danvers and all.

Think I got it? Nix! Some folks is easy pleased. And Pyramid Gordon,
with seventeen different kinds of trouble bein' warmed up for him behind
his back, stood there and played kid. Said he couldn't think of losin'
Sir Peter after that. He'd got to have dinner with us. Blessed if he
didn't too, pail and all! Couldn't fall for any talk about changin'
cars; oh, no! But when he sees the pink candles, and the oysters on the
half, and the quart bott' in the ice bath, he seemed to get his hearin'
back by wireless.

"Dinner?" says he. "Ah, yes! Danvers, has the prime minister come yet?
It was to-night that he was to dine with me, wasn't it?"

"To-morrow night, Sir Peter," says Danvers.

"Oh, very well. But you gentlemen will share the joint with me, eh?
Welcome to Branscomb Arms! And let's gather around, sirs, let's gather
around!"

You should have seen the way he did it, though. Reg'lar John Drew
manners, the old duffer had. Lord knows where he thought he was, though;
somewhere on Highgate Road, I suppose. But wherever it was, he was right
to home--called Rufus Rastus Jenkins, and told Danvers he could go for
the day. Gave me the goose-flesh back until I got used to it; but Mr.
Gordon seemed to take it all as part of the game.

It beat all the dinners I ever had, that one. There we were poundin'
over the rails through Pennsylvania at a mile-a-minute clip, the tomato
soup doin' a merry-go-round in the plates, the engine tootin' for grade
crossin's; and Sir Peter, wearin' his pail as dignified as a cardinal
do