The apparition of an entire stranger served to divert the lightning of Mrs. McCall’s gaze from the unfortunate Washy.  Archie, catching it between the eyes, blinked and held on to the wall.  He had begun to regret that he had yielded so weakly to Lucille’s entreaty that he should look in on the McCalls and use the magnetism of his personality upon them in the hope of inducing them to settle the lawsuit.  He wished, too, if the visit had to be paid that he had postponed it till after lunch, for he was never at his strongest in the morning.  But Lucille had urged him to go now and get it over, and here he was.

“I think,” said Mrs. McCall, icily, “that you must have mistaken your room.”

Archie rallied his shaken forces.

“Oh, no.  Rather not.  Better introduce myself, what?  My name’s Moffam, you know.  I’m old Brewster’s son-in-law, and all that sort of rot, if you know what I mean.”  He gulped and continued.  “I’ve come about this jolly old lawsuit, don’t you know.”

Mr. McCall seemed about to speak, but his wife anticipated him.

“Mr. Brewster’s attorneys are in communication with ours.  We do not wish to discuss the matter.”

Archie took an uninvited seat, eyed the Health Bread on the breakfast table for a moment with frank curiosity, and resumed his discourse.

“No, but I say, you know!  I’ll tell you what happened.  I hate to totter in where I’m not wanted and all that, but my wife made such a point of it.  Rightly or wrongly she regards me as a bit of a hound in the diplomacy line, and she begged me to look you up and see whether we couldn’t do something about settling the jolly old thing.  I mean to say, you know, the old bird—­old Brewster, you know—­is considerably perturbed about the affair—­hates the thought of being in a posish where he has either got to bite his old pal McCall in the neck or be bitten by him—­and—­well, and so forth, don’t you know!  How about it?” He broke off.  “Great Scot!  I say, what!”

So engrossed had he been in his appeal that he had not observed the presence of the pie-eating champion, between whom and himself a large potted plant intervened.  But now Washington, hearing the familiar voice, had moved from the window and was confronting him with an accusing stare.

“He made me do it!” said Washy, with the stern joy a sixteen-year-old boy feels when he sees somebody on to whose shoulders he can shift trouble from his own.  “That’s the fellow who took me to the place!”

“What are you talking about, Washington?”

“I’m telling you!  He got me into the thing.”

“Do you mean this—­this—­” Mrs. McCall shuddered.  “Are you referring to this pie-eating contest?”

“You bet I am!”

“Is this true?” Mrs. McCall glared stonily at Archie, “Was it you who lured my poor boy into that—­that—­”