"
"Perhaps," laughed Stuart, gayly, "perhaps. But I'm awake now, in any
event. Sloane, old man," he cried, dropping both hands on the
youngster's shoulders, "how much money have you? Enough to take me to
Gibraltar? They can cable me the rest."
"Hoorah!" shouted Sloane, waltzing from one end of the room to the
other. "And we're off to Ab-yss-in-ia in the morn-ing," he sang.
"There's plenty in my money belt," he cried, slapping his side; "you
can hear the ten-pound notes crackle whenever I breathe, and it's all
yours, my dear boy, and welcome. And I'll prove to you that the
Winchester is the better gun."
"All right," returned Stuart, gayly, "and I'll try to prove that the
Italians don't know how to govern a native state. But who is giving
this supper, anyway?" he demanded. "That is the main thing--that's
what I want to know."
"You've got to pack, haven't you?" suggested Rives.
"I'll pack when I get back," said Stuart, struggling into his
greatcoat, and searching in his pockets for his gloves. "Besides, my
things are always ready and there's plenty of time; the boat doesn't
leave for six hours yet."
"We'll all come back and help," said Weimer.
"Then I'll never get away," laughed Stuart. He was radiant, happy, and
excited, like a boy back from school for the holidays. But when they
had reached the pavement, he halted and ran his hand down into his
pocket, as though feeling for his latch-key, and stood looking
doubtfully at his friends.
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