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knew, but he was that type of man who wishes to be on friendly terms with his victim. A plentiful type.
“I’m sure Miss Mary Will wishes you to accept,” he added.
“She hasn’t said so,” I suggested.
“It’s not my birthday,” said Mary Will, “nor my party.”
“Not your birthday,” cackled old Drew. “I should say not. But your party, I hope. Everybody’s party. What do you say, my boy?”
Mary Will’s indifference had maddened me, and nothing could keep me from that party now.
“I’ll be delighted to come,” I said firmly. It was to Drew I spoke, but my gaze was on Mary Will’s scornful profile.
“That’s fine!” cried the old man. He peered out the window. “Where are we? Ah, yes—Post and Grant—there’s a shop near here.” He seized the speaking tube and ordered his Japanese chauf-
