“'You, dear Peter:' That's just like Holker! He begins that way when he wants me to do something for him. 'No use saying you won't come, for I shall be around for you at seven o'clock with a club--'No, that's not it--he writes so badly--'with a cab.' Yes, that's it--'with a cab.' I wonder if he can drive me up those six flights of stairs? 'There'll be something to eat, and drink, and there will be fifty or more of my draughtsmen and former employees. I'm going to give them a dinner and a house-warming. Bring the Major if you see him. I have sent a note to his room, but it may not reach him. No dress suit, remember. Some of my men wouldn't know one if they saw it.” As the letter dropped from Peter's hand a scraping of feet was heard at the hall door, followed by a cheery word from Mrs. McGuffey--she had her favorites among Peter's friends--and Holker Morris burst into the room. “Ah, caught you both!” he cried, all out of breath with his run upstairs, his hat still on his head. No one blew in and blew out of Peter's room (literally so) with the breeze and dash of the distinguished architect. “Into your coats, you two--we haven't a moment to spare. You got my letter, of course,” he added, throwing back the cape of his raincoat. “Yes, Holker, just opened it!” cried Peter, holding out both hands to his guest. “But I'm not going. I am too old for your young fellows--take the Major and leave me behind.” The architect grabbed Peter by the arm. “When did that mighty idea crack its way through that shell of yours, you tottering Methusaleh! Old! You're spryer than a frolicking lamb in March. You are coming, too, Major. Get into your coats and things!” “But Isaac is pressing my swallow-tail.” “I don't mean your dress-coat, man--your OVERCOAT! Now I am sure you didn't read my letter? Some of my young fellows haven't got such a thing--too poor.” “But look at YOURS!” “Yes, I had to slip into mine out of respect to the occasion; my boys wouldn't like it if I didn't. Sort of uniform to them, but they'd be mighty uncomfortable if you wore yours. Hurry up, we haven't a minute to lose.” Peter had forced the architect into one of the big chairs by the fire by this time, and stood bending over him, his hands resting on Morris's broad shoulders. “Take the Major with you, that's a good fellow, and let me drop in about eleven o'clock,” he pleaded, an expression on his face seen only when two men understand and love each other. “There's a letter from Felicia to attend to; she writes she is coming down for a couple of weeks, and then I've really had a devil of a day at the bank.”