Peter rose to his feet. "I DO know him," he said, holding out his
hand cordially. "I've been knowing him all the evening. He's made
most of the fun at his end of the table. You seem to have flaunted
your Corn Exchange banner on the smallest provocation, Mr.
Minott," and Peter's fingers gripped those of the young man.

"That's because I've been in charge of the inside work. Great
dinner, isn't it, Mr. Grayson. But it's Britton who has made the
dinner. He's more fun than a Harlem goat with a hoopskirt. See
him--that's Brit with a red head and blue neck-tie. He's been all
winter in Wisconsin looking after some iron work and has come back
jam full of stories." The dignity of Peter's personality had
evidently not impressed the young man, judging from the careless
tone with which he addressed him. "And how are you getting on,
Jack--glad you came, arn't you?" As he spoke he laid his hand
affectionately on the boy's shoulder. "Didn't I tell you it would
be a corker? Out of sight, isn't it? Everything is out of sight
around our office." This last remark was directed to Peter in the
same casual way.

"I should say that every stopper was certainly out," answered
Peter in graver tones. He detested slang and would never
understand it. Then again the bearing and air of Jack's friend
jarred on him. "You know, of course, the old couplet--'When the
wine flows the--'"

"No, I don't know it," interrupted Minott with an impatient
glance. "I'm not much on poetry--but you can bet your bottom
dollar it's flowing all right." Then seeing the shade of