after dinner?"

"No" said Fred. "We've an invitation, but I think we'll send a note
and say we can't come. We'll dine at our hotel and sit on the veranda
afterward."

I wondered what Fred was driving at, and so did the collector who was
headed across the street and listening with all ears.

"That so? Not a bad idea. They've very kindly made me an honorary
member of the club, but I rather expect there's a string to that--eh,
Fred, don't you? They'll expect stories,--stories. I get tired of
telling the same tales so many times over. Suppose I join you fellows,
eh? I'm at the Royal. You at the other place? Suppose I join you
after dinner, and we have a pipe together on the veranda?"

"Nothing I'd like better," said Fred, and I felt too pleased with the
prospect to say anything at all. Growing old is a foolish and
unnecessary business, but there is no need to forego while young the
thrills of unashamed hero-worship; in fact, that is one of the ways of
continuing young. It is only the disillusioned (poor deceived ones)
and the cynics, who grow old ungracefully.

We went upstreet, through the shadow of the great grim fort. The
trolley-car trundled down among the din, smells and colors of the
business-end of town. Looking over my shoulder I saw Courtney talking
to the collector.

"We're getting absolution, Fred!" said I.