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Sommers hold yourselves apart," Webber went on with friendly warmth, "as if you were too good for ordinary company. Now I know you don't really think so at all. As soon as you break the ice, you will be all right. There was Lemenueville. He started in here the right way, took to the Presbyterian church, the fashionable one on Parkside Avenue, and made himself agreeable.
"Rag," Webber snapped, recognizing the doctor. "And I'm done for this time sure thing every red copper. I made two thousand last week on Tin, and this morning I chucked the whole pile into Rag." "You'd better come with me," Sommers urged. "The Exchange is closing for to-day, anyway." The clerk laughed, and replied: "Let's have a drink. I've just got enough to get drunk on."
Well, the curse came on me in this way: Charley Webber, the young fellow I was travelling with, got a letter from some relations in New Zealand, advising him to settle there; so he offered me his plant for two-thirds of its value fifty notes down and fifty more when he would send for it. Sheer good-nature of him, for he knew he could have the lot if he liked.
Few can estimate the pleasure I felt, the fame and reputation I anticipated. I drew up a little memoir for the board, most respectfully and civilly worded, having for title the following: ACCOUNT Of a remarkable Subterranean Passage lately discovered in the Old Building of Trinity College, Dublin; With Observations upon its Extent, Antiquity, and Probable Use. By F. WEBBER, Senior Freshman.
"Come along," he said buoyantly to the two. "Let us not lag. Once aboard the flitter and the girl is mine." "Oh for God's sake shut up," said Webber. It was ridiculous to be flying the stars with a bad hangover, but Kieran had one. His head ached dully, he had an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth, and his former ebullience had given way to a dull depression. He looked sourly around.
"Kerrect," answered Webber, as gravely as possible, thinking of the hundred gaudy promises old Jim had made concerning his undeveloped and so far worthless claim. "I hope you'll strike it good and rich." "Wal," drawled Jim; "bad luck has to associate with a little good luck once in a while, to appear sort of half-way respectable.
And when Mr. Webber, with his hand upon his heart, and in his most dulcet accents, assured them that the hours he was not engaged in reading for the medal were passed in the soothing society of a few select and intimate friends of literary tastes and refined minds, who, knowing the delicacy of his health, here he would cough, were kind enough to sit up with him for an hour or so in the evening, the delusion was perfect; and the story of the dean's riotous habits having got abroad, the charge was usually suppressed.
"If you'd do that, Jim, that would be the biggest present of the lot," said Webber. "You wouldn't have to do nuthin' more." "Wal, I'm goin' to make a Noah's ark full of animals, anyway," said Jim. "Also a few cars and boats and a big tin horn if only I've got the activity." "But we'll reckon on you for the tree," insisted the blacksmith. "Then, of course, we want a great big Christmas dinner."
The whist was resumed; the boxers, now refreshed by a leg of the spatch-cock, returned to their gloves; Mr. Moore took up his violin; Mr. Webber his French horn; and I was left the only unemployed man in the company. "I say, Power, you'd better bring the drag over here for us; we can all go down together."
His hand fumbled in a pocket and leveled a tiny, dull-gray metal object at the door. With the other hand, he took the receiver from the hook. "Harry! Is that you?" His throat was like sandpaper and the words came out in a rasp. "What is it?" "Harry, this is George George Webber." His eyes were glued to the door. "All right. What do you want?" "You've got to come talk to us, Harry.
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