"Know from Jack how glad you always are to escape girls," he remarked cheerily as he produced cigars. "Don't blame you at all--in fact, do you know it refreshes me to find--"
Don't know what dashed thing it refreshed him to find, for I never caught it. For just then through the doorway there floated, from across the hall, a bar of music--the laugh of the dearest girl in the world!
"Hah!" ejaculated the judge, pausing with questioning uplift of cigar. "The silly cackle of those girls--it disturbs you. Yes, it does--I can see it--you _look_ disturbed." And, dash it, he insisted upon closing the door. "You mustn't let _them_ bother you while you are here," he urged pleasantly; "you must just go ahead and do the thing you _want_ to do."
By Jove, there seemed little opportunity for it!
The judge proceeded genially: "Of course we all understand that you just came up to Wolhurst to please Jack." Then his face clouded. "H'm! Sorry to learn that he came home with another--" his eyes rolled through a circle--"er--is not feeling just fit. It's too bad, for I wanted some one to take you over the neighborhood--interesting landmarks, you know, reminiscent of Major André and Washington Irving."
"Charmed, I'm sure," I chirped up. Jolly lie, though, for I wasn't impressed; didn't know _who_ the other fellow was, but I had _seen_ Irving in London--scores of times. Not a patch on John Drew to _my_ thinking!
The judge was murmuring something apologetic:
"So I can't go with you, myself, you see--but I know you will understand. Just so infernally tied up with preparation of rebuttal in suit the attorney-general is bringing against one of my corporations--most unreasonable thing you ever heard of!" The judge crossed his legs with a fling of impatience and pulled savagely at his cigar. "By George, Lightnut, we are getting to a pass with politics where party organization is going to the dogs--don't you think so, eh?"
"Oh, dash it, yes--rotten, you know!" I worked off indignantly--her father, don't you see! Sat wondering when I would get to see her--by Jove, they would _have_ to let me see her at luncheon! I just caught back in time to get the end of a sentence:
"Utter defiance of personal obligations!" His hands spread eloquently. "Tell me what is the use of electing men to office, when they time-servingly yield before the clamor of the cursed populistic and revolutionary spirit of the times?" He was leaning toward me now, his jolly face swelling with indignation, his fist beating upon his knee. "What has become, Mr. Lightnut," he pounded, "of the time-honored sanctity of the 'gentleman's agreement'--eh? Where now the _pact conventa_?"