"Pack your friend Grant, here, for two days in New York. He's
going to-night and--I guess you'd better come along."

Arkwright threw up his hands in a gesture of mock despair. "Do as
he says, Walter. He's the boss."

"Now you're talking sense," said Craig. "Some day you'll stand
before kings for this--or sit, as you please."

On their way out Josh fished from the darkness under the front
stairs a tattered and battered suitcase and handed it to Walter.
"It's my little all," he explained to Grant. "I've given up my
rooms at the Wyandotte. They stored an old trunkful or so for me,
and I've sent my books to the office."

"Look here, Josh," said Grant, when they were under way; "does
Margaret know you're coming?"

"Does Margaret know I'm coming?" repeated Joshua mockingly. "Does
Margaret know her own mind and me? ... Before I forget it here's a
list I wrote out against a lamp-post while I was waiting for you
to come home. It's the things I must have, so far as I know. The
frills and froth you know about--I don't."





CHAPTER XVIII