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Updated: May 5, 2025
Cressey's creed in such matters was complete; any friend of his was good enough for any environment to which he might introduce him, and any other friend who took exceptions might go farther! "Banzai!" said the cheerful host over his cocktail. "Welcome to our city. Hope you like it." "I do," said Banneker, lifting his glass in response. "Where are you living?" "Grove Street."
Banneker nodded, half checking himself in his slow walk. "How are you?" he said with an accent of surprise and pleasure. Cressey's expressionless face turned a little. There was no response in kind to Banneker's smile. "Oh! H'ware you!" said he vaguely, and passed on. Banneker advanced mechanically until he reached the corner. There he stopped. His color had heightened.
Providentially, as it might appear, a friend of Cressey's, having secured a diplomatic appointment, was giving up his bachelor apartment in the select and central Regalton. "Cheap as dirt," said the enthusiastic Cressey, beaming at Banneker over his cocktail that evening. "Two rooms and bath; fully furnished, and you can get it for eighteen hundred a year."
It was glorious hair. Not black, as Cressey had described it in his hasty sketch of the unknown I.O.W.; too alive with gleams and glints of luster for that. Nor were her eyes black, but rather of a deep-hued, clouded hazel, showing troubled shadows between their dark-lashed, heavy lids. Yet Banneker made no doubt but that this was the missing girl of Cressey's inquiry. "May I?" he said.
I'll put you in my bank; they'll take you on for five hundred." Arrived at Mertoun's, Banneker unobtrusively but positively developed a taste of his own in the matter of hue and pattern; one, too, which commanded Cressey's respect. The gilded youth's judgment tended toward the more pronounced herringbones and homespuns.
"I reckon I'll have to lick this town and lick it good before it learns to be friendly." A hand fell on his arm. He turned to face Cressey. "You're the feller that bossed the wreck out there in the desert, aren't you? You're lessee Banneker." "I am." The tone was curt. "Awfully sorry I didn't spot you at once." Cressey's genuineness was a sufficient apology. "I'm a little stuffy to-day.
"Aim high! Aim high! The great prizes in journalism are few. They are, in any line of endeavor. And the apprenticeship is hard." Herbert Cressey's clumsy but involuntary protest reasserted itself in Banneker's mind. "I wish you would tell me frankly, Mr. Vanney, whether reporting is considered undignified and that sort of thing?" "Reporters can be a nuisance," replied Mr. Vanney fervently.
Pleasantly musing over the last glass of a good but moderate-priced Rosemont-Geneste, Banneker became aware of Cressey's dinner party filing past him: then of Jules, the waiter, discreetly murmuring something, from across the table. A faint and provocative scent came to his nostrils, and as he followed Jules's eyes he saw a feminine figure standing at his elbow.
No, Esther, I'm afraid I'm chained to this desk. Ask me sometime when you're cruising as far as Coney Island." Io sat silent, and with a set smile, listening to Herbert Cressey's account of an election row in the district where he was volunteer watcher. When the party broke up, she went home with Densmore without giving Banneker the chance of a word with her.
He's a mystery." "He's a beauty," said Cressey's left-hand neighbor. Miss Esther Forbes had been quite openly staring, with her large, gray, and childlike eyes, at Banneker, eating his oysters in peaceful unconsciousness of being made a subject for discussion. Miss Forbes was a Greuze portrait come to life and adjusted to the extremes of fashion.
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