He's as big as he is ugly; a tough customer."
"All right. I'll just put on some old clothes, to dress the part of
a beetle-purveyor correctly, and also in case I get 'em torn in my
meeting with judge 'Oily.' I'll see you later--and report, if I
survive his wrath."
Thus it was that, on the morning after this dialogue, a clean-built
young fellow walked along West Sixteenth Street, appreciatively
sniffing the sunny crispness of the May air. He was rather shabby
looking, yet his demeanor was by no means shabby. It was confident
and easy. On the evidence of the bandbox which he carried, his
mission should have been menial; but he bore himself wholly unlike
one subdued to petty employments. His steady, gray eyes showed a
glint of anticipation as he turned in at the gate of the high,
broad, brown house standing back, aloof and indignant, from the
roaring encroachments of trade. He set his burden down and, pulled
the bell.
The door opened promptly to the deep, far-away clangor. A flashing
impression of girlish freshness, vigor, and grace was disclosed to
the caller against a background of interior gloom.
Pages:
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357