in at Frescobaldi’s and ordered more dishes and more of them.  He impressed the Italian as an American original of a novel kind; and when he asked Fulkerson how Dryfoos had made his money, and learned that it was primarily in natural gas, he made note of some of his eccentric tastes as peculiarities that were to be caressed in any future natural-gas millionaire who might fall into his hands.  He did not begrudge the time he had to give in explaining to Dryfoos the relation of the different wines to the different dishes; Dryfoos was apt to substitute a costlier wine where he could for a cheaper one, and he gave Frescobaldi carte blanche for the decoration of the table with pieces of artistic confectionery.  Among these the caterer designed one for a surprise to his patron and a delicate recognition of the source of his wealth, which he found Dryfoos very willing to talk about, when he intimated that he knew what it was.

Dryfoos left it to Fulkerson to invite the guests, and he found ready acceptance of his politeness from Kendricks, who rightly regarded the dinner as a part of the ‘Every Other Week’ business, and was too sweet and kind-hearted, anyway, not to seem very glad to come.  March was a matter of course; but in Colonel Woodburn, Fulkerson encountered a reluctance which embarrassed him the more because he was conscious of having, for motives of his own, rather strained a point in suggesting the colonel to Dryfoos as a fit subject for invitation.  There had been only one of the colonel’s articles printed as yet, and though it had made a sensation in its way, and started the talk about that number, still it did not fairly constitute him a member of the staff, or even entitle him to recognition as a regular contributor.  Fulkerson felt so sure of pleasing him with Dryfoos’s message that he delivered it in full family council at the widow’s.  His daughter received it with all the enthusiasm that Fulkerson had hoped for, but the colonel said, stiffly, “I have not the pleasure of knowing Mr. Dryfoos.”  Miss Woodburn appeared ready to fall upon him at this, but controlled herself, as if aware that filial authority had its limits, and pressed her lips together without saying anything.

“Yes, I know,” Fulkerson admitted.  “But it isn’t a usual case.  Mr. Dryfoos don’t go in much for the conventionalities; I reckon he don’t know much about ’em, come to boil it down; and he hoped”—­here Fulkerson felt the necessity of inventing a little—­“that you would excuse any want of ceremony; it’s to be such an informal affair, anyway; we’re all going in business dress, and there ain’t going to be any ladies.  He’d have come himself to ask you, but he’s a kind of a bashful old fellow.  It’s all right, Colonel Woodburn.”

“I take it that it is, sir,” said the colonel, courteously, but with unabated state, “coming from you.  But in these matters we have no right to burden our friends with our decisions.”

“Of course, of course,” said Fulkerson, feeling that he had been delicately told to mind his own business.