At table, Narramore mentioned that his friend Birching was an
architect.

"Just what this fellow ought to have been," he said, indicating
Hilliard. "Architecture is his hobby. I believe he could sit down
and draw to scale a front elevation of any great cathedral in Europe
--couldn't you, Hilliard?"

Laughing the joke aside, Hilliard looked with interest at Mr.
Birching, and began to talk with him. The three young men consumed a
good deal of wine, and after dinner strolled about the streets,
until Narramore's fatigue and thirst brought them to a pause at a
cafe on the Boulevard des Italiens. Birching presently moved
apart, to reach a newspaper, and remained out of earshot while
Narramore talked with his other friend.

"What's going on?" he began. "What are you doing here? Seriously, I
want you to go along with us. Birching is a very good sort of chap,
but just a trifle heavy--takes things rather solemnly for such hot
weather. Is it the expense? Hang it! You and I know each other well
enough, and, thanks to my old uncle----"

"Never mind that, old boy," interposed Hilliard. "How long are you
going for?"

"I can't very well be away for more than three weeks. The brass
bedsteads, you know----"

Hilliard agreed to join in the tour.