Then out came Van Sweller, smiling, but with that sly,
secretive design in his eye that was puzzling me.
"I believe," he said easily, as he smoothed a glove, "that I will drop
in at ---- [4] for dinner."
[Footnote 4: See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well,"
in the daily newspapers.]
I sprang up, angrily, at his words. This, then, was the paltry trick he
had been scheming to play upon me. I faced him with a look so grim that
even his patrician poise was flustered.
"You will never do so," I exclaimed, "with my permission. What kind of a
return is this," I continued, hotly, "for the favors I have granted you?
I gave you a 'Van' to your name when I might have called you 'Perkins'
or 'Simpson.' I have humbled myself so far as to brag of your polo
ponies, your automobiles, and the iron muscles that you acquired when
you were stroke-oar of your 'varsity eight,' or 'eleven,' whichever it
is. I created you for the hero of this story; and I will not submit to
having you queer it. I have tried to make you a typical young New York
gentleman of the highest social station and breeding.
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