he said with a cheery smile as he passed out of
the door (she had caught sight of the letter and had stretched out her
hand)--"No--I am going for a walk, and I'll mail it myself."

CHAPTER XII

Whatever the function--whether it was a cosey dinner for the congenial
few, a crowded reception for the uncongenial many, or a coming-out party
for some one of the eager-expectant buds just bursting into bloom--most
of whom he had known from babyhood--Peter was always ready with his "Of
course I'll come--" or "Nothing would delight me more--" or the formal
"Mr. Grayson accepts with great pleasure," etc., unless the event
should fall upon a Saturday night; then there was certain to be a prompt
refusal.

Even Miss Felicia recognized this unbreakable engagement and made her
plans accordingly. So did good Mrs. McGuffey, who selected this night
for her own social outings; and so did most of his intimate friends who
were familiar with his habits.

On any other night you might, or you might not, find Peter at home,
dependent upon his various engagements, but if you really wanted to
get hold of his hand, or his ear, or the whole or any other part of
his delightful body, and if by any mischance you happened to select a
Saturday night for your purpose, you must search for him at the Century.
To spend this one evening at his favorite club had been his custom for
years--ever since he had been elected to full membership--a date so far
back in the dim past that the oldest habitue had to search the records
to make sure of the year, and this custom he still regularly kept up.

That the quaint old club-house was but a stone's throw from his own
quarters in Fifteenth Street made no difference; he would willingly have
tramped to Murray Hill and beyond--even as far as the big reservoir, had
the younger and more progressive element among the members picked the
institution up bodily and moved it that far--as later on they did.

Not that he favored any such innovation: "Move up-town! Why, my dear
sir!" he protested, when the subject was first mentioned, "is there
nothing in the polish of these old tables and chairs, rubbed bright by
the elbows of countless good fellows, that appeals to you? Do you think
any modern varnish can replace it? Here I have sat for thirty years or
more, and--please God!--here I want to continue to sit."

He was at his own small table in the front room overlooking the street
when he spoke--his by right of long us