like heartiness was
simulated. "Glad to see you, old fellow. Gad, you're as like me as
ever. Where did you drop from?"

I explained my predicament and we talked amiably and harmlessly for
awhile about family gossip. I abhor family gossip, but it is a shade
better than politics, and those two subjects are the only ones on
which Clark can converse at all. I described Mary Alice's wedding, and
Florence's new young man, and Tom-and-Kate's twins. Clark tried to be
interested but I saw he had something on what serves him for a mind.
After awhile it came out. He looked at his watch with a frown.

"I'm in a bit of a puzzle," he said. "The Mark Kennedys are giving a
dinner to-night. You don't know them, of course. They're the big
people of Broughton. Kennedy runs the politics of the place, and Mrs.
K. makes or mars people socially. It's my first invitation there and
it's necessary I should accept it--necessary every way. Mrs. K. would
never forgive me if I disappointed her at the last moment. Not that I,
personally, am of much account--yet--to her. But it would leave a
vacant place. Mrs. K. would never notice me again and, as she bosses
Kennedy, I can't afford to offend her. Besides, there's a girl who'll
be there. I've met her once. I want to meet her again. She's a beauty
and no mistake. Toplofty as they make 'em, though. However, I think
I've made an impression on her. It was at the Harvey's dance last
week. She was the handsomest woman there, and she never took her eyes
off me. I've given Mrs. Kennedy a pretty broad hint that I want to
take her in to dinner. If I don't go I'll miss all round."

"Well, what is there to prevent you from going?" I asked, squiffily. I
never could endure the way Clark talked about girls and hinted at his
conquests.

"Just this. Herbert Bronson came to town this afternoon and is leaving
on the 10.30 train to-night. He's sent me word to meet him at his
hotel this evening and talk over a mining deal I've been trying to
pull off. I simply must go. It's my one chance to corral Bronson. If I
lose him it'll be all up, and I'll be thousands out of pocket."

"Well, you _are_ in rather a predicament," I agreed, with the
philosophical acceptance of the situation that marks the outsider. _I_
wasn't hampered by the multiplicity of my business and social
engagements that evening, so I could afford to pity Clark. It is
always rather nice to be able to pity a person you dislike.

"I should say so. I can't