dred a year dues," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, pricking up his ears. "Really quite reasonable."
"My wife don't like the golf club I belong to," said the other, squinting at his own cigar. "Rough-neck crowd, she says."
Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned.
"That's too bad," he said.
The contractor appeared to be weighing something in his mind.
"How long does it take to get into your club?" he asked.
"Usually about five years," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, blandly. "Long waiting list, you know. Some of the best people in the city are on it, by the way. I daresay it wouldn't be more than two or three months in your case, however," he concluded.
"I'll speak to the wife about it," said Mr. McFaddan. "She may put her foot down hard. Too swell for us, maybe. We're plain people."
"Not a bit of it," said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily. "Extremely democratic club, my dear McFaddan. Exclusive and all that, but quite—ah—unconventional. Ha-ha!"
Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured a little farther. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he got to his feet with an exclamation of well-feigned dismay.
"My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the luncheon hour. Stupid of me. Why didn't you kick me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to do, and I will be delighted to— But better still, can't you have lunch with me? I could tell you something
