As the letter dropped from Peter's hand a scraping of feet was
heard at the hall door, followed by a cheery word from Mrs.
McGuffey--she had her favorites among Peter's friends--and Holker
Morris burst into the room.

"Ah, caught you both!" he cried, all out of breath with his run
upstairs, his hat still on his head. No one blew in and blew out
of Peter's room (literally so) with the breeze and dash of the
distinguished architect. "Into your coats, you two--we haven't a
moment to spare. You got my letter, of course," he added, throwing
back the cape of his raincoat.

"Yes, Holker, just opened it!" cried Peter, holding out both hands
to his guest. "But I'm not going. I am too old for your young
fellows--take the Major and leave me behind."

The architect grabbed Peter by the arm. "When did that mighty idea
crack its way through that shell of yours, you tottering
Methusaleh! Old! You're spryer than a frolicking lamb in March.
You are coining, too, Major. Get into your coats and things!"

"But Isaac is pressing my swallow-tail."

"I don't mean your dress-coat, man--your OVERCOAT! Now I am sure
you didn't read my letter? Some of my young fellows haven't got
such a thing--too poor."

"But look at YOURS!"

"Yes, I had to slip into mine out of respect to the occasion; my