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Updated: June 14, 2025
It gave no inkling of its unique exclusiveness, and equally unique expensiveness. As for Cressey, that simple, direct, and confident soul took not the smallest account of Banneker's standardized clothing, which made him almost as conspicuous in that environment as if he had entered clad in a wooden packing-case.
Herbert Cressey stopped Banneker outside of his apartment with the remark made and provided for the delayed reunion of frequent companions: "Well I thought you were dead!" By way of keeping to the same level Banneker replied cheerfully: "I'm not." "Where've you been all this while?" "Working." "Where were you Monday last? Didn't see you at Sherry's." "Working." "And the week before?
Tact inspired Cressey to say at once: "Of course, that's all you had to consider. By the way, you haven't seen my revered uncle since you got here, have you?" "Mr. Vanney? No." "Better drop in on him." "He might try to give me another yellow-back," smiled the ex-agent. "Don't take Uncle Van for a fool. Once is plenty for him to be hit on the nose." "Has he still got a green whisker?" "Go and see.
"And if there's anything I can do for you any time, drop me a line." The sumptuous ripple and gleam of the young man's faultless coat, registered upon Banneker's subconscious memory as it had fallen at his feet, recalled itself to him. "What store do you buy your clothes at?" "Store?" Cressey did not smile. "I don't buy 'em at a store. I have 'em made by a tailor. Mertoun, 505 Fifth Avenue."
Having declined several of his employer's invitations in succession on the well-justified plea of work, Banneker felt it incumbent upon him to attend one of these events, and accordingly found himself in a private dining-room of the choicest of restaurants, tabled with a curiously assorted group of financiers, editors, actors, a small selection of the more raffish members of The Retreat including Delavan Eyre; Ely Ives; an elderly Jewish lawyer of unsavory reputation, enormous income, and real and delicate scholarship; Herbert Cressey, a pair of the season's racing-kings, an eminent art connoisseur, and a smattering of men-about-town.
"She looks it," admitted Banneker. "At that, she's in a rather sporty lot. Do you know that chap three seats to her left?" Banneker considered the diner, a round-faced, high-colored, youthful man of perhaps thirty-five, with a roving and merry eye. "No," he answered. "I never saw him before." "That's Del Eyre," remarked Cressey casually, and appearing not to look at Banneker. "A friend of yours?"
And when my eyes were another way?" returned Fanny, blushing like a quince blossom. "Well, he cannot mean anything more than thanks for our small attentions." "George is a fine young man," said Mrs. Fabens, "if the Cressey girls, and Desdemona Faddle do feel above him.
Ives," he added, as that keen gambler began to enter a protest. "Send you a check in the morning if that'll be all right." Herbert Cressey, hand in pocket, was at his side instantly. "Pay him now, Del," he said in a tone which did not conceal his contemptuous estimate of Ives. "Here's money, if you haven't it." "No; no! A check will be quite all right," protested Ives. "At your convenience."
"Perhaps you're right. He likes 'em meek and obedient. He'd make a woolly lamb out of you. Most fellows would jump at the chance." "I won't." "My name's Herbert Cressey." He handed the agent a card. "Philadelphia is my home, but my New York address is on there, too. Ever get East?" "I've been to Chicago." "Chicago?" The other stared. "What's that got to do with Oh, I see.
His admiring eye fell upon his visitor's bow-tie, faultless and underanged throughout the vicissitudes of that arduous day, and he yearned to know whether it was "made-up" or self-confected. Sears-Roebuck were severely impartial as between one practice and the other, offering a wide range in each variety. He inquired. "Oh, tied it myself, of course," returned Cressey.
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