“Hullo, Eddie,” said Ditmar.  “You’ve got a good crowd here to-day.  Any room for me?”

“Sure, Mr. Ditmar, we can always make room for you.  Well, I haven’t laid eyes on you for a dog’s age.  Only last Sunday Mr. Crane was here, and I was asking him where you’d been keeping yourself.”

“Why, I’ve been busy, Eddie.  I’ve landed the biggest order ever heard of in Hampton.  Some of us have to work, you know; all you’ve got to do is to loaf around this place and smoke cigars and rake in the money.”

The proprietor of the Kingsbury Tavern smiled indulgently at this persiflage.

“Let me present you to Miss Bumpus,” said Ditmar.  “This is my friend, Eddie Hale,” he added, for Janet’s benefit.  “And when you’ve eaten his dinner you’ll believe me when I say he’s got all the other hotel men beaten a mile.”

Janet smiled and flushed.  She had been aware of Mr. Hale’s discreet glance.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Bumpus,” he said, with a somewhat elaborate bow.

“Eddie,” said Ditmar, “have you got a nice little table for us?”

“It’s a pity I didn’t know you was coming, but I’ll do my best,” declared Mr. Hale, opening the door in the counter.

“Oh, I guess you can fix us all right, if you want to, Eddie.”

“Mr. Ditmar’s a great josher,” Mr. Hale told Janet confidentially as he escorted them into the dining-room.  And Ditmar, gazing around over the heads of the diners, spied in an alcove by a window a little table with tilted chairs.

“That one’ll do,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but it’s engaged,” apologized Mr. Hale.

“Forget it, Eddie—­tell ’em they’re late,” said Ditmar, making his way toward it.

The proprietor pulled out Janet’s chair.

“Say,” he remarked, “it’s no wonder you get along in business.”

“Well, this is cosy, isn’t it?” said Ditmar to Janet when they were alone.  He handed her the menu, and snapped his fingers for a waitress.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to this place?” she asked.

“I wanted to surprise you.  Don’t you like it?”

“Yes,” she replied.  “Only—­”

“Only, what?”

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that—­here.”

“All right.  I’ll try to be good until we get into the car again.  You watch me!  I’ll behave as if we’d been married ten years.”

He snapped his fingers again, and the waitress hurried up to take their orders.

“Kingsbury’s still dry, I guess,” he said to the girl, who smiled sympathetically, somewhat ruefully.  When she had gone he began to talk to Janet about the folly, in general, of prohibition, the fuse oil distributed on the sly.  “I’ll bet I could go out and find half a dozen rum shops within a mile of here!” he declared.