"Will you be wanting me, Miss Killigrew?"
"Only to say that father will be detained down-town to-night and that
you will be expected to take mother and me to the theater. It is one
of your English musical comedies; and very good, they say."
Thomas had been dreading such a situation. As yet there had been no
entertaining at the Killigrew home; nearly all their friends were out
of town for the summer; thus far he had escaped.
"I am sorry, Miss Killigrew, but I have no suitable clothes." Which
was plain unvarnished truth. "And I do not possess an opera-hat." And
never did.
Kitty laughed pleasantly. "We are very democratic in this house, as by
this time you will have observed. In the summer we do not dress; we
take our amusements comfortably. Ordinarily we would be at our summer
home on Long Island; but delayed repairs will not let us into it till
August. Then we shall all take a vacation. You will join us as you
are; that is, of course, if you are not too busy with your own affairs."
"Never too busy to be of service to you, Miss Killigrew. I'm only
scribbling."
"A book?"--interestedly.
"Bally rot, possibly. Would you like to read it?"--one of the best
inspirations he had ever had. He was not one of those silly
individuals who hem and haw when some one discovers they have the itch
for writing, whose sole aim is to have the secret dragged out of them,
with hypocritical reluctance.
"May I?" Her friendly aloofness fell away from her as if touched by
magic. "I am an inveterate reader. Besides, I know several famous
editors, and perhaps I could help you."
"That would be jolly."
"And you are writing a story, and never told us about it!"
"It never occurred to me to tell you. I shall be very glad to go to
the theater with you and Mrs. Killigrew."
Kitty tucked the romance under her arm and flew to her room with it.
This Thomas was as full of surprises as a Christmas-box.
He eyed the empty doorway speculatively. He rather preferred the
friendly aloofness; otherwise some fatal nonsense might enter his head.
He resumed his chair and transferred his gaze to the blotter. He added
a few pothooks by the way: numerals in addition and subtraction (for he
was of Scotch descent), a name which he scratched out and scrawled
again and again scratched out. He examined the contents of his wallet.
How many pounds did a dress-suit cost in this hurly-burly country?
This question could be answered only in one way. He hastened out into
the hall, put on his hat, made for the subway, and got out directly
opposite the offices of Killigrew and Company, sugar, coffee and
spices. London-bred, it did not take him long to find his way about.
The racket disturbed him; that was all.