of the performance, I’m asking you to let me go. May I?”
“No, indeed! Why, Aunt Abby, it will be a terrible crowd—a horde of ragamuffins and ruffians. You’d be torn to pieces—”
“But I want to, Sanford,” and the old lady was on the verge of tears. “I want to see Hanlon—”
“Hanlon! Who wants to see Hanlon?”
The expected Hendricks came into the room, and shaking hands as he talked, he repeated his question: “Who wants to see Hanlon? Because I do, and I’ll take any one here who is interested.”
“Oh, you angel man!” exclaimed Aunt Abby, her face beaming. “I want to go! Will you really take me, Alvord?”
“Sure I will! Anybody else? You want to see it, Eunice?”
“Why, I didn’t, but as Sanford just read it, it sounded interesting. How would we go?”
“I’ll run you out in my touring car. It won’t take more’n the afternoon, and it’ll be a jolly picnic. Go along, San?”
“No, not on your life! When did you go foolish, Alvord?”
“Oh, I always had a notion toward that sort of thing. I want to see how he does it. Don’t think I fall for the telepathy gag, but I want to see where the little joker is,—and then, too, I’m glad to please the ladies.”
“I’ll go,” said Eunice; “that is, if you’ll stay and dine now—and we can talk it over and plan the trip.”
“With all the pleasure in life,” returned Hendricks.
Chapter II
A Trip To Newark
Perhaps no factor is more indicative of the type of a home life than its breakfast atmosphere. For, in America, it is only a small proportion, even among the wealthy who ‘breakfast in their rooms.’ And a knowledge of the appointments and customs of the breakfast are often data enough to stamp the status of the household.
In the Embury home, breakfast was a pleasant send-off for the day. Both Sanford and Eunice were of the sort who wake up wide-awake, and their appearance in the dining-room was always an occasion of merry banter and a leisurely enjoyment of the meal. Aunt Abby, too, was at her best in the morning, and breakfast was served sufficiently early to do away with any need for hurry on Sanford’s part.
The morning paper, save for its headlines, was not a component part of the routine, and it was an exceptionally interesting topic that caused it to be unfolded.
This morning, however, Miss Ames reached the dining-room before the others and eagerly scanned the pages for some further notes of the affair in Newark.
But with the total depravity of inanimate things and with the invariable disappointingness of a newspaper, the columns offered no other information than a mere announcement of the coming event.
“Hunting for details of your wild-goose chase?” asked Embury, as he paused on the way to his own chair to lean over Aunt Abby’s shoulder.
“Yes, and there’s almost nothing! Why do you take this paper?”
“You’ll see it all to-day, so why do you want to read about it?” laughed a gay voice, and Eunice came in, all fluttering chiffon and ribbon ends.
She took the chair Ferdinand placed for her, and picked up a spoon as the attentive man set grapefruit at her plate. The waitress was allowed to serve the others, but Ferdinand reserved to himself the privilege of waiting on his beloved mistress.
“Still of a mind to go?” she said, smiling at her aunt.
“More than ever! It’s a perfectly heavenly day, and we’ll have a good ride, if nothing more.”
“Good ride!” chaffed Embury. “Don’t you fool yourself, Aunt Abby! The ride from this burg to Newark, N.J., is just about the most Godforsaken bit of scenery you ever passed through!”
“I don’t mind that. Al Hendricks is good company, and, any way, I’d go through fire and water to see that Hanlon show. Eunice, can’t you and Mr. Hendricks pick me up? I want to go to my Psychic Class this morning, and there’s no use coming way back here again.”
“Yes, certainly; we’re going about noon, you know, and have lunch in Newark.”
“In Newark!” and Embury looked his amazement.
“Yes; Alvord said so last night. He says that new hotel there is quite all right. We’ll only have time for a bite, anyway.”
“Well, bite where you like. By the way, my Tiger girl, you didn’t get that information from our friend last evening.”
“No, San, I couldn’t, without making it too pointed. I thought I could bring it in more casually to-day—say, at luncheon.”
“Yes; that’s good. But find out, Eunice, just where the Merediths stand. They may swing the whole vote.”
“What vote?” asked Aunt Abby, who was interested in everything.
“Our club, Auntie,” and Embury explained. “You know Hendricks is president—has been for years—and we’re trying to oust him in favor of yours truly.”
“You, Sanford! Do you mean you want to put him out and put yourself in his place?”
“Exactly that, my lady.”
“But-how queer! Does he know it?”
“Rather! Yes—even on calm second thought, I should say Hendricks knows it!”
“But I shouldn’t think you two would be friends in such circumstances.”
“That’s the beauty of it, ma’am; we’re bosom friends, as you know; and yet, we’re fighting for that presidency like two cats of Kilkenny.”
“The New York Athletic Club, is it?”
“Oh, no, ma’am! Not so, but far otherwise. The Metropolitan Athletic Club if you please.”
“Yes, I know—I’d forgotten the name.”
“Don’t mix up the two—they’re deadly rivals.”
“Why do you want to be president, Sanford?”
“That’s a long tale, but in a nutshell, purely and solely for the good of the club.”
“And that’s the truth,” declared Eunice. “Sanford is getting himself disliked in some quarters, influential ones, too, and he’s making life-long enemies—not Alvord, but others—and it is all because he has the real interests of the club at heart. Al Hendricks is running it into—into a mud-puddle! Isn’t he, San?”
“Well, yes, though I shouldn’t have thought of using that word. But, he is bringing its gray hairs in sorrow to the grave—or will, if he remains in office, instead of turning it over to a well-balanced man of good judgment and unerring taste—say, like one Sanford Embury.”
“You certainly are not afflicted with false pride, Sanford,”
