"Not on your life. You're not going just yet--I haven't had half a
chance to talk to you. Robbins, take Mr. Duncan's things."

Duncan, set upon by Robbins, who had been hovering round for just that
purpose, lifted his shoulders in resignation, turning back into the
room as Miller and Long said good-night to him and left at Bartlett's
heels, and smiled awry in semi-humorous deprecation of the way in which
he let Kellogg out-manoeuvre him. When it came to that, it was hard to
refuse Kellogg anything; he had that way with him. Especially if one
liked him... And how could anyone help liking him?

Kellogg had him now, holding him fast by either shoulder, at arm's
length, and shaking a reproving head at his friend. "You big duffer!"
he said. "Did you think for a minute I'd let you throw me down like
that?"

Duncan stood passive, faintly amused and touched by the other's show of
affection. "No," he said, "I didn't really think so. But it was worth
trying on, of course."

"Look here, have you dined?"

'At this suggestion Duncan stiffened and fell back. "No, but--"

Kellogg swept the ground from under his feet. "Robbins," he told the
man, "order in dinner for two from the club, and tell 'em to hurry it
up."

"Yes, sir," said Robbins, and flew to obey before Duncan could get a
chance to countermand his part in the order.