't here at ten o'clock when De Pommereul
came in. I'm glad I wasn't. You must have been dreadful. If Summerson
and Joyce hadn't rushed in between you and the Count, heaven knows what
would have happened. As it is----"

At this point Dalrymple broke in with cold harshness: "Look here,
Everdell, I always disliked practical jokes, and I've known for a number
of years that you're given to them. You've never attempted to make me
your butt before, however, and you'll have the kindness to discontinue
any such proceeding now."

Everdell drew back for a moment, frowned, shrugged his shoulders, and
then muttering, "Oh, if you're going to put it in that way," strode
quickly out of the dining-room.

Dalrymple scarcely ate a morsel of breakfast. After he had gulped down
some hot coffee he repaired to the reading-room. As he re-entered it a
waiter handed him several letters. One, which he opened first, was
marked "immediate," and had been sent him from his own house by an
intelligent and devoted woman servant there, who had been for a long
period in his employ. This letter made poor Dalrymple's head swim as he
read it. Written and signed by Mr. Summerson himself, as chairman of the
house committee of the club, it ordered him to appear that same evening
before a meeting of the governors and answer to a charge of disorderly
conduct on the previous night. Then it went on to state that he
(Dalrymple) had been seen throughout the previous day at the club in a
state of evident intoxication, and had, finally, between the hours of 10
and 11 P. M., accosted and grossly insulted the Count de Pommereul in
the main drawing-room of the Gramercy.

"Disorderly conduct," "evident intoxication," "grossly insulted the
Count de Pommereul." These words were trembling on Dalrymple's lips as
he presently approached Summerson himself, the very gentleman who had
signed the letter, and who stood in the hall, arrayed for the street.

"What--what does it all mean?" gasped Dalrymple. "I--I never was
intoxicated in my life, Lawrence Summerson; you ought to know that! I
played euchre last night, up in the card-room, from nine o'clock till
twelve, with Ogden and Folsom and yourself. If there's any practical
joke being got up against me, for God's sake----"

"Wait a minute, please," said Summerson. He went back into the
coat-room, disarrayed himself of his street wraps, and finally joined
Dalrymple. His first words, low and grave, ran thus: "Can it be possibl