"If you don't mind, this is my fly, sir," Kelson was saying as Gifford
reached him.

"The porter told me it was the _Golden Lion_ conveyance," a strong,
deeply modulated voice replied from the fly.

"And I think he told you it was engaged," Kelson rejoined bluffly.

"I did not quite understand that," the voice of the occupant replied in
an even tone. "I am sorry if there has been any misunderstanding; but as
I am going to the hotel--"

"That is no reason why you should take our fly," Kelson retorted, his
temper rising at the other's coolness. "I must ask you to vacate it at
once," he added with heat.

"How many of you are there?" The man leaned forward showing in the
doorway a handsome face, dark almost to swarthiness. "Only two? Surely
there is no need to turn me out. You don't want to play the dog in the
manger. There is room for all three, and I shall be happy to contribute
my share of the fare."

"I don't want anything of the sort--"

Kelson was beginning angrily when Gifford intervened pacifically.

"It is all right, Harry. We can squeeze in. The fellow seems more or less
a gentleman; don't let's be churlish," he added in an undertone.

"But it is infernal impudence," Kelson protested.