"Depends a good deal on Royce," says I. "Course, if he's too raw a roughneck----"
"Precisely!" breaks in J. Bayard. "And as the son of such a man we must look for rather a crude youth, I suppose. But in order to carry out the terms of Gordon's will we must do some kind and generous act for these people. This seems to be our only chance. Now here is my plan."
And he's comin' on, J. Bayard is! He proposes that we use our combined pull with Mr. Twombley-Crane to land Royce--for one consecutive night, anyway--plunk in the middle of the younger set. He's leased a nice furnished cottage from one of the Meadowbrook bunch, not more'n a mile from the Twombley-Crane estate, got the promise of havin' the youngster's name put up at the Hunt Club for the summer privileges, and has arranged to have mother and son move in right in the height of the season.
"In time for the Twombley-Cranes' big costume ball?" I suggests.
"Nothing less," says he. "And if we could manage to have them invited to that--well, what more could a fond parent ask?"
"H-m-m-m!" says I, rubbin' my chin. "Might get ourselves disliked if we sprung a ringer on 'em that way. Course, if this Royce boy could be trained to pull a broad A now and then, and be drilled into doin' a maxixe that would pass, I might take a chance. Mrs. McCabe could get their names on the guest list, all right. But I'd have to have a peek at Sonny first."
You see, with an ex-waitress mother, and a Hungry Jim for a father, Royce might be too tough for anything but a Coney Island spiel-fest. In that case J. Bayard would have to dig up a new scheme. So we starts out to look 'em up.
Accordin' to schedule we should have found 'em both waitin' for us at the lawyer's, sittin' side by side and lookin' scared. But the boy that shows us into the reception room says how Mrs. Hammond is in the private office with the boss, and it looks like Sonny was late.
"I'll tell you," says I to J. Bayard. "You push in and interview Mother, while I stick around out here and wait for the other half of the sketch."
He agrees to that, and has disappeared behind the ground-glass door when I discovers this slick-haired young gent sittin' at a desk over by the window,--a buddin' law clerk, most likely. And by way of bein' sociable I remarks casual that I hear how McGraw is puttin' Tesreau on the mound again to-day against the Cubs.