I must get dad to introduce me. I suppose you know
everybody!" he ended admiringly.
They retraced their steps through the silent house and down to the front
door, continuing their talk. As Dan turned for their last words on the
veranda steps he acted on an impulse and said:--
"Have supper with me to-morrow night--we won't call it dinner--at the
Whitcomb House. I'll meet you in the lobby at six o'clock. The honorable
state committee is in town and I'll point out some of the moulders of
our political destiny. They're a joy to the eye, I can tell you!"
Allen's eager acquiescence, his stumbling, murmured thanks, emphasized
Dan's sense of the forlorn life young Thatcher had described.
* * * * *
"So the old boy's skipped, has he?" demanded the city editor. "Well,
that's one on us! Who put you on?"
"I kept at the bell until the door opened and then I saw Thatcher's son.
He told me."
"Oh, the family idiot let you in, did he? Then there's no telling
whether it's true or not. He's nutty, that fellow. Didn't know he was
here."
"I believe he told me the truth. His father's on his way to New York."
"Well, that sounds definite; but it doesn't make any difference now.
We've just had a tip to let the deal alone. For God's sake, keep at the
law, Harwood; this business is hell." The city editor bit a fat cigar
savagely.
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