Luncheon-time passed; Washer and Bouncer and Close and Courtney went
into executive session; two o'clock came, three o'clock, four
o'clock, and still no meeting. At the latter hour Johnny, making his
tireless rounds but afflicted with despair, located Billy Wobbles,
the one with the jerky eyelids and impulsive knees, on the loggia
with Loring; Eugene was in the poker room trying numbly to discover
the difference between a four-flush and a deuce-high hand; Tommy,
his toupee well down toward his scanty white eyebrows, was boring
the Courtney girls to the verge of tears; Cecil, stumbling almost
rhythmically over his own calves, was playing tennis with Winnie and
Sammy and Mrs. Follison; and Reggie, the twitcher, was entertaining
Val Russel and Bruce Townley with a story he had started at nine
o'clock in the morning.

Suddenly Johnny was visited with a long-sought inspiration and
hurried down to the kennels, remembering with much self-scorn that
he had dragged each of the Wobbleses away from there at least once.

The master of the dogs was Irish and young, with eyes the color of a
six-o'clock sky on a sunny day, and he greeted Johnny with a white-
toothed smile that would have melted honey.

"I locked Beauty up, sir," he said with a touch of his cap,
referring to the gentle collie that had poked its nose confidingly
into Johnny's hand at every visit. "There was too much excitement
for her with all the strangers round, but she'll be glad to see you,
sir."

"Give Beauty my card and tell her I'll be back," directed Johnny
with a friendly glance in the direction of Beauty's summer