game, I had drawn him out in the hall.

I motioned toward the front door. "Simeon Peck. He thinks he's got
something on Mr. Beasley. He's waiting to see you."

Dowden uttered a sharp, half-coherent exclamation and stepped quickly to
the door. "Peck!" he said, as he jerked it open.

"Oh, I'm here!" declared that gentleman, stepping into view. "I've come
around to let you know that you couldn't laugh like a horse at ME no
more, George Dowden! So YOU weren't invited, either."

"Invited?" said Dowden, "Where?"

"Over to the BALL your friend is givin'."

"What friend?"

"Dave Beasley. So you ain't quite good enough to dance with his
high-society friends!"

"What are you talking about?" Dowden demanded, impatiently.

"I reckon you won't be quite so strong fer Beasley," responded Peck,
with a vindictive little giggle, "when you find he can use you in his
BUSINESS, but when it comes to ENTERTAININ'--oh no, you ain't quite the
boy!"

"I'd appreciate your explaining," said Dowden. "It's kind of cold
standing here."