idiot Dicky Carter was, and how everybody liked him, but wished he would
grow up before the family good name was gone, and that now he had a
chance to make good and be self-supporting, and he wasn't around, and
if Mr. Sam ever got his hands on him he'd choke a little sense down his
throat.

And then Mr. Pierce told about the play and the mumps, and how he was
stranded. When Mr. Sam asked him outright if he'd take Mr. Dick's place
overnight he agreed at once.

"I haven't anything to lose," he said, "and anyhow I've been on a diet
of Sweet Peas so long that a sanatorium is about what I need."

"It's like this," explained Mr. Sam, "Old Stitt is pretty thoroughly
jingled--excuse me, Minnie, but it's the fact. I'll take you to his
room, with the lights low, and all you'll need to do is to shake hands
with him. He's going on the early train to-morrow. Then you needn't mix
around much with the guests until to-morrow, and by that time I hope to
have Dick within thrashing distance."

Just as they'd got it arranged that Mr. Pierce was to put on Mr. Sam's
overcoat and walk down to the village so that he could come up in a
sleigh, as if he had driven over from Yorkton--he was only to walk
across the hall in front of the office, with his collar up, just enough
to show himself and then go to his room with a chill--just as it was all
arranged, Mr. Sam thought of something.

"The house people are waiting for Dick," he said to me, "and about forty
women are crocheting in the lobby, so they'll be sure to see him. Won't
some of them know it isn't Dick?"