"Haven't been home lately, have you?" he remarked.
"To tell you the truth," Mr. Burton explained, puffing at his cigar,
"this little affair has been taking up every minute of my time. I had
to take chambers in town to keep up with my work. Well, so long,
Johnson! See you later at the band-stand. Don't forget we shall be
expecting you this evening. May run you up to the west-end, perhaps, if
the missis feels like it."
He nodded and proceeded on his way to the front door of his domicile.
Mr. Johnson, narrowly escaping an impulse to take off his hat,
proceeded on his homeward way.
"Any one at home?" Mr. Burton inquired, letting himself in.
There was no reply. Mr. Burton knocked with his gold-headed cane upon
the side of the wall. The door at the end of the passage opened
abruptly. Ellen appeared.
"What are you doing there, knocking all the plaster down?" she demanded,
sharply. "If you want to come in, why can't you ring the bell?
Standing there with your hat on as though the place belonged to you!"
Burton was a little taken aback. He recovered himself, however, secure
in the splendid consciousness of his irreproachable clothes and the
waiting motor-car. He threw open the door of the parlor.
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