the door Willy Bartlett intercepted him.

"I say, Duncan--"

"Oh, hell!" said Duncan beneath his breath. He paused ungraciously
enough.

"We've got to see a bit of one another, now we've met again, y'know.
Wish you'd look me up--Half Moon Club'll get me 'most any time. We'll
have to arrange to make a regular old-fashioned night of it, just for
memory's sake."

Duncan nodded, edging past him. "I've memories enough," he said.

"Right-oh! Any reason at all, y'know, just so we have the night."

"Good enough," assented Duncan vaguely. He suffered his hand to be
wrung with warmth. "I'll not forget--good-night." Then he pulled up and
groaned, for Willy's insistence had frustrated his design: Kellogg had
suddenly become alive to his attitude and hailed him over the heads of
Long and Miller.

"Nat, I say! Where the devil are you going?"

"Over to the hotel," said Duncan.

"The deuce you are! What hotel?"

"The one I'm stopping at."