“Conover,” protested Caine, “as a highwayman--or financier, to put it more politely--you are a genius. But as a _man_, you leave a ghastly amount to be desired. Have you a superstitious fear of the word ‘Thanks’? I offer to put the columns of the ‘_Star_’ at your disposal. Common decency at least should call for a word of gratitude. Or, if not for the Steeloid matter, at least for my championing you to-day at the Club. Surely _that_ wasn’t in the interest of your wonderful Steeloid stock.” Conover plodded ahead glumly for some moments. Then he observed, as though turning to a pleasanter subject: “In the part of that Napoleon book I read it told how the old-line, patent-leather ’ristocrats of France fell over each other to do things that would make a hit with the big ‘hold-up man’. Wasn’t it real gen’rous of ’em? But then, maybe Napoleon had a cute little way of sayin’ ‘Thanks,’ oftener’n _I_ do.” CHAPTER V AN INTERLUDE “Why folks should drink tea when they’re not thirsty, an’ gobble sweet crackers when they’re not hungry,” observed Conover, impersonally, as he balanced his cup and saucer on one thick palm and stared at the tea as though it might turn and rend him, “is somethin’ I never could make out. As far as I can learn, s’ciety is made up of doin’ things you don’t want to at times you don’t need to.” “There is nothing in afternoon tea,” quoted Desirée, “To appeal to a person like me. There’s too little to eat, What there is is too sweet. And I feel like a cow up a tree.” “And,” improvised Caine, “In Boston we threw away tea Because of King George’s decree. When England disputed, We just revoluted. Hurray for the Land of the Free! “And now that we’ve all testified,” he added, “may I please have another cup? If not, I’m going to keep on repeating insipid verses till I get it.” The two men had dropped in at the Shevlin house on their way from the Arareek Club. Desirée had listened delightedly to Caleb’s expurgated account of the Committee meeting, and at the story’s close had rung for tea. Caine was a prime favorite of hers. Caleb was wont to lean back and listen in unaffected admiration to their talk--about one-half of which he could understand. His hazarded remark about tea had been thus far the Fighter’s only contribution to the chatter. Emboldened by it he now ventured a second observation. “I see by the ‘_Star_’,” said he, “that there’s goin’ to be a blowout up at the Standishes’, week after next. A dinner party and a musicle. Whatever a musicle may be. You’re goin’ of course, Caine?” “Yes,” replied Caine, adding flippantly, “of course _you_ are?” “Yes,” said Caleb, slowly, “I think I am.” “You’re not in earnest?” cried Desirée, surprised. “I’m in earnest all right. It’ll be a big affair. I think I’ll go to the musicle an’ the dinner too.” “But I didn’t know you knew any of the Standishes except--”