It had been a forlorn hope at best, this attempt of his to escape
Kellogg: Duncan acknowledged it when, his packing rudely finished, he
started for the door, Robbins reluctantly surrendering the suit-case
after exhausting his repertoire of devices to delay the young man. But
at that instant the elevator gate clashed in the outer corridor and
Kellogg's key rattled in the lock, to an accompanying confusion of
voices, all masculine and all very cheerful.
Duncan sighed and motioned Robbins away with his luggage. "No hope
now," he told himself. "But--O Lord!"
Incontinently there burst into the room four men: Jim Long, Larry
Miller, another whom Duncan did not immediately recognise, and Kellogg
himself, bringing with them an atmosphere breezy with jubilation.
Before he knew it Duncan was boisterously overwhelmed. He got his
breath to find Kellogg pumping his hand.
"Nat," he was saying, "you're the only other man on earth I was wishing
could be with me tonight! Now my happiness is complete. Gad, this is
lucky!"
"You think so?" countered Duncan, forcing a smile. "Hello, you boys!"
He gave a hand to Long and Miller. "How're you all?" He warmed to their
friendly faces and unfeigned welcome. "My, but it's good to see you!"
There was relief in the fact that Kellogg, after a single glance,
forbore to question his return; he was to be counted upon for tact, was
Kellogg. Now he strangled surprise by turning to the fourth member of
the party.
"Nat," he said, "I want you to meet Mr. Bartlett. Mr. Bartlett, Mr.
Duncan."
A wholesome smile dawned on Duncan's face as he encountered the blank
blue stare of a young man whose very smooth and very bright red face
was admirably set off by semi-evening dress. "Great Scott!" he cried,
warmly pressing the lackadaisical hand that drifted into his. "Willy
Bartlett--after all these years!"
A sudden animation replaced the vacuous stare of the blue eyes.
"Duncan!" he stammered. "I say, this is rippin'!"
"As bad as that?" Duncan essayed an accent almost English and nodded
his appreciation of it: something which Bartlett missed completely.
He was very young--a very great deal younger, Duncan thought, than when
they had been classmates, what time Duncan shared his rooms with
Kellogg: very much younger and suffering exquisitely from
over-sophistication. His drawl barely escaped being inimitable; his air
did not escape it. "Smitten with my old trouble," Duncan appraised him:
"too much money... Heaven knows I hope he never recovers!"
As for Willy, he was momentarily more nearly human than he had seemed
from the moment of his first appearance. "You know," he blurted, "this
is simply extraordinary. I say, you chaps, Duncan and I haven't met for
years--not since he graduated. We belonged to the same frat, y'know,
and had a jolly time of it, if he was an upper-class man. No side about
him at all, y'know--absolutely none whatever. Whenever I had to go out
on a spree, I'd always get Nat to show me round."
"I was pretty good at that," Duncan admitted a trifle ruefully.
But Willy rattled on, heedless. "He knew more pretty gels, y'know... I
say, old chap, d'you know as many now?"