Part 21 (1/2)

He put on his coat, added an overcoat and white scarf, c.o.c.ked his opera hat on his shapely old head, and sat confronting his sitting-room clock.

At 7:29 he rose briskly, and then with a sigh sank back into his chair.

He heard a footstep on the stair.

”Mr. Walkingshaw,” announced the valet.

The Colonel advanced with that courteous smile for which he was renowned.

”My dear Charlie!” cried his visitor.

”Well, Heriot,” smiled the Colonel, looking a little surprised at the remarkable joviality of this greeting.

He surveyed his old friend up and down, and seemed still more surprised.

”What a buck you are!” he exclaimed.

In truth, Mr. Walkingshaw, arrayed in a new opera hat, a new and s.h.i.+ning pair of dress boots, and a fas.h.i.+onable new overcoat, cut a very different figure from the sedate W.S. of the Colonel's previous acquaintance.

Heriot looked a trifle self-conscious.

”I hope I haven't overdone the thing,” said he.

”Not a bit,” smiled the Colonel, as a bright inspiration struck him.

”The only criticism I'd make is that you are really thrown away on the members of your very sedate club, Heriot.”

”Oh, but I didn't mean to dine you at my club.”

Colonel Munro opened his eyes and smiled again.

”Where do you propose?”

”Well, I thought perhaps you might advise me.”

”Let me see,” mused Charlie, with a pleasant air.

”What about the Carlton?”

”First-rate, if you care to run to that.”

”I've booked a table there on spec,” said Heriot.

The Colonel beamed.

”I say, you're coming out, Heriot. Blowing the expense this time, what?”

”I don't care what I spend!” replied his old friend, in a burst of confidence.

”Then let's start,” said the Colonel. ”Like to take a cab?”

”I've got one waiting.”