“At last!” exclaimed Josh, leading the way up the Arkwright steps and ringing the bell.  Grant muttered a curse under his breath.  When the man had opened the door, “Come in,” continued Josh loudly and cheerily, leading the way into the house.

“You’d think it was his house, by gad!” muttered Grant.

“I’ve been walking up and down before the entrance for an hour.  The butler asked me in, but I hate walls and roof.  The open for me—­the wide, wide open!”

“Not so loud,” growled Arkwright.  “The family’s in bed.  Wait till we get to my part of the house.”

When they were there, with doors closed and the lights on, Craig exhaled his breath as noisily as a blown swimmer.  “What a day!  What a day!” he half-shouted, dropping on the divan and thrusting his feet into the rich and rather light upholstery of a near-by chair.

Grant eyed the feet gloomily.  He was proud of his furniture and as careful of it as any old maid.

“Go ahead, change your clothes,” cried Josh.  “I told your motorman not to go away.”

“What do you mean?” Arkwright demanded, his temper boiling at the rim of the pot.

“I told him before you got out.  You see, we’re going to New York to-night—­or rather this morning.  Train starts at one o’clock.  I met old Roebuck at the White House to-night—­found he was going by special train—­asked him to take us.”

“Not I,” said Arkwright.  “No New York for me.  I’m busy to-morrow.  Besides, I don’t want to go.”

“Of course you don’t,” laughed Craig, and Arkwright now noted that he was in the kind of dizzy spirits that most men can get only by drinking a very great deal indeed.  “Of course you don’t.  No more do I. But I’ve got to go—­and so have you.”

“What for?”

“To help me get married.”

Grant could only gape at him.

“Don’t you know Margaret has gone to New York?”

“I saw it in the paper, but—­”

“Now, don’t go back a week to ancient history.”

“I don’t believe it,” foamed Grant, so distracted that he sprang up and paced the floor, making wild gestures with his arms and head.

Craig watched, seemed hugely amused.  “You’ll see, about noon to-morrow.  You’ve got to put in the morning shopping for me.  I haven’t got—­You know what sort of a wardrobe mine is.  Wardrobe?  Hand satchel!  Carpet-bag!  Rag-bag!  If I took off my shoes you’d see half the toes of one foot and all the heel of the other.  And only my necktie holds this collar in place.  Both buttonholes are gone.  As for my underclothes—­but I’ll spare you these.”

“Yes, do,” said Grant with a vicious sneer.

“Now, you’ve got to buy me a complete outfit.”  Craig drew a roll of bills from his pocket, counted off several, threw them on the table.  “There’s four hundred dollars, all I can afford to waste at present.  Make it go as far as you can.  Get a few first-class things, the rest decent and substantial, but not showy.  I’ll pay for the suits I’ve got to get.  They’ll have to be ready-made—­and very good ready-made ones a man can buy nowadays.  We’ll go to the tailor’s first thing—­about seven o’clock in the morning, which’ll give him plenty of time for alterations.”