"Don't you think it is about time we got to know some of the important
people in town--social stuff--country club and so on?" said Knowlton one
evening as he looked at me through his cigar smoke with one of his
quizzical grins.
"I'm not very keen about it," I growled, for I was tired and sulky from
a hard day, and Deep Harbor was resting somewhat heavily upon my nerves.
"We've been here three months now, and not a solitary person has spoken
to us except in the way of business."
Knowlton went on: "Still, I think it's bad business to keep away from
them; we've got to know them. They haven't chased after us, so we must
chase after them."
"Is there ever any other motive in your mind than a business one?" I
exploded in disgust. This merely produced a particularly fiendish grin
from Knowlton.
"Little inclined to kick over the traces tonight, aren't you, Ted? I
don't blame you. You've had too long a dose without the right kind of
relaxation. There must be plenty of nice people here if we could only
get in touch with them. Better get out your Tuxedo and have it pressed.
We'll open a social campaign."
I paid little attention to Knowlton's latest plan; he was full of new
schemes each day, all aimed at extending the scope of our business
connections. Several days passed, and, as I heard no more of his
calculated social ambitions, I concluded that pressure of more important
affairs had mercifully excluded this new idea from his mind. Then one
afternoon my call sounded on the buzzer, and I reported at the office.
Knowlton greeted me with the customary grin. "Busy out in the
laboratory?"
"No more than usual," I replied noncommittally. I had learned that when
Knowlton introduced a subject with a prelude of this kind it usually
meant extra work was about to be proposed.
"No experiment that will keep you this evening?" he queried. Should I
start one as a measure of self-protection and then say "Yes," or should
I chance whatever new plan Knowlton had on foot and step into his
obvious trap? I decided on the latter course for the sake of variety.
"No," I answered. "I shall close down with the whistle."
"Good. Then I have a dinner invitation for you--now, you are to go, Ted,
it's no use putting your back up. I've practically accepted."
"Are you going?" I asked suspiciously.
"Why no, Ted, I'm not. In the first place I haven't been invited; and,
second, they are not so much in my line."
"Who, where, when?" I tried to make this scornfully ironic, but I only
drew a broader grin than before from Knowlton.
"You owe the honour of this invitation to Mr. Hemphill, of our office
staff."