Holker's handwriting," he said as he inserted the end of the paper
cutter. "I wonder what the dear fellow wants now?" Here he ran his eye
over the first page. "Listen, Major. What an extraordinary man... He's
going to give a dinner, he says, to his draughtsmen... in his offices
at the top of his new building, six stories up. Does the rascal think I
have nothing to do but crawl up his stairs? Here, I'll read it to you."

"'You, dear Peter:' That's just like Holker! He begins that way when he
wants me to do something for him. 'No use saying you won't come, for I
shall be around for you at seven o'clock with a club--'No, that's not
it--he writes so badly--'with a cab.' Yes, that's it--'with a cab.' I
wonder if he can drive me up those six flights of stairs? 'There'll
be something to eat, and drink, and there will be fifty or more of my
draughtsmen and former employees. I'm going to give them a dinner and a
house-warming. Bring the Major if you see him. I have sent a note to his
room, but it may not reach him. No dress suit, remember. Some of my men
wouldn't know one if they saw it."

As the letter dropped from Peter's hand a scraping of feet was heard at
the hall door, followed by a cheery word from Mrs. McGuffey--she had her
favorites among Peter's friends--and Holker Morris burst into the room.

"Ah, caught you both!" he cried, all out of breath with his run
upstairs, his hat still on his head. No one blew in and blew out
of Peter's room (literally so) with the breeze and dash of the
distinguished architect. "Into your coats, you two--we haven't a moment
to spare. You got my letter, of course," he added, throwing back the
cape of his raincoat.

"Yes, Holker, just opened it!" cried Peter, holding out both hands to
his guest. "But I'm not going. I am too old for your young fellows--take
the Major and leave me behind."

The architect grabbed Peter by the arm. "When did that mighty idea crack
its way through that shell of yours, you tottering Methusaleh! Old!
You're spryer than a frolicking lamb in March. You are coming, too,
Major. Get into your coats and things!"

"But Isaac is pressing my swallow-tail."

"I don't mean your dress-coat, man--your OVERCOAT! Now I am sure you
didn't read my letter? Some of my young fellows haven't got such a
thing--too poor."

"But look at YOURS!"

"Yes, I had to slip into mine out of respect to the occasion; my boys
wouldn't like it if I didn't. Sort of uniform to them, but they'd