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Updated: May 9, 2025
But a day or two later, when rumors of threatened violence began to trickle in over the telephone wires, a Tribune man called, in passing, at the general offices in the Coosa Building, and was promptly put to sleep by the astute Dyckman, who, for reasons of his own, was quite willing to conceal the true state of affairs.
"Wait till you hear what Miss Silsby's gotta say!" said one dryad, and another added: "Woisse than that is this: you know who that was you flang out at so regardless?" "I don't know, and I don't care," sobbed Kedzie. "You would care if you was wise to who His Nibs was!" "Who was it?" Kedzie gasped. "Jim Dyckman no less! You was right in his arms, and you hadda go an' biff him."
I desoived the second one, for I'm the kind o' guy gets his once and comes back for more in the same place. I'd go tell Jimmie Dyckman I was a liar but I ain't anxious to be run up for poijury, and I ain't achin' to advertise what a John I been. So long, Anitar, and Gaw delp the next guy crosses your pat'." That was the last Kedzie saw of Skip. She did not miss him.
Yet Dyckman, he had heard, was worth twenty millions. If his wealth were changed into thousand-dollar bills there would be twenty thousand of them in a stack. If Gilfoyle peeled off one thousand of those thousand-dollar bills the stack would not be perceptibly diminished.
When she lived under the Dyckman roof she was included in the cards left by all the callers; she was invited into the drawing-room to meet them; she was present at all the big and little dinners, and breakfasts and teas and suppers.
She had to talk to some one, and she telephoned to Jim Dyckman, making her good-bys an excuse. It was the first time he had been permitted to hear her voice for weeks, and the lonely joy that cried out in his greeting brought warm tears to her dull, dry eyes. He heard her weeping and he demanded the right to come to see her.
How far off it seemed since she had been called "Miss"! She had been a girl when Cheever's written and spoken words inflamed her. They blazed now as she had blazed. Into that holocaust had gone her youth, her illusions, her virginity, her bridehood, her wifely trust. And all that was left was a black char. She came upon letters from Jim Dyckman, also, a few.
The big gladiator sat still waiting for the retiarius to finish him. But Connery's voice grew merciful. It was a luxury beyond price to extend an alms to this plutocrat. "What I'm getting at, Mr. Dyckman," he resumed, "is this: Tommie owed some money to his landlady. He owed me some money that I could use. He's got a mother and father up-State. He told me he'd never told them about his marriage.
It happened that he found the Cheever limousine waiting outside. He said to the chauffeur: "Where does Miss Zada L'Etoile live?" The chauffeur was startled. He answered, with a touch of raillery: "Search me, sir. How should I know?" "I want none of your back talk," said Dyckman, ready to maul the chauffeur or anybody for practice. He took out his pocket-book and lifted the first bill he came to.
It was the best of all possible clubs, and he supposed that he would be expelled for profaning its sacrosanctity with a vulgar brawl. But anything was better than cold feet. Finally his hundredth glance at the door revealed Jim Dyckman. He was a long way off, but he looked bigger than Cheever remembered him. Also he was calmer than Cheever had hoped him to be, and not drunk, as he half expected.
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