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"What's more," Lockwood continued with rising colour, "Roland says he can prove it?" "Prove what?" Nat insisted. "Get down to facts, can't you?" "That you're a thief with a reward out for you," said Roland. "You're that Mortimer Henry what absconded from the Longacre National Bank in Noo York." There fell a brief pause.
Snow-plows were already abroad clearing tracks, dry snow-dust spinning from under them. At Longacre Square the flakes blew upward in spiral flurries, erratic, full of antics. The cab snorted, plunged, leaped forward. Mr. Fitzgibbons inclined toward the little huddle beside him. "Sweetness, now I got you! You little sweetness you, now I got you, sweetness!" "Jimmie! Quit! Quit!
At Longacre square, where the swirl and eddy of human currents met and became a cauldron and whirlpool, he was held up at a crossing, while the crowd shrunk back on itself, waiting the raised hand of the traffic policeman. Finding himself jostled, he glanced languidly over his shoulder.
'Lloyd George for ever and Britannia rules the waves. Dare say I should sing it myself if I'd come out covered with glory like you did." "I met Gainsford today. He says the longacre fences ought to be renewed before winter. Parts of them are so rotten that the first gale will bring them down." "Damn Gainsford and damn the fences and damn you." "Really, really!"
It's a long story, and I haven't time to tell you now, but the point is that he wanted me to wear the Longacre as worn by John Drew when I had set my heart on the Country Gentleman as worn by another famous actor chappie and the end of the matter was that, after a rather painful scene, I bought the Country Gentleman.
And it was just about as private as a conversation through megaphones in Longacre Square. "Didn't she write to you?" "I got a letter from her. I tore it up. I didn't read it." Pleasant, was it not? It was not. I began to understand what a shipwrecked sailor must feel when he finds there's something gone wrong with the life belt. I thought I might as well get to the point and get it over.
"Take a taxi and get me that Longacre hat, as worn by John Drew!" "Thank you very much, sir." I felt most awfully braced. I felt as if the clouds had rolled away and all was as it used to be. I felt like one of those chappies in the novels who calls off the fight with his wife in the last chapter and decides to forget and forgive.
"Yes, it was sent up to Stratfield to-day," replied the masseur, "but the coroner seems to want to worry me all he can." "Too bad. I was up almost all last night, and to-day I have been out in my car tired to death. Thought I might get some rest here. Where are you sending the boys to the Longacre?" "Yes. They'll take good care of you till I open up again. Hope to see you back again, then, Mr.
Broadway fascinated him. He followed it uptown toward Longacre Circle. The street was as usual in a state of chronic excavation. His foot slipped and he fell into a trench while trying to cross. When he emerged it was with a pound or two of Manhattan mud on his corduroy suit. He looked at himself again with a sense that his garb did not quite measure up to New York standards.
Obstinate devil! So dashed absurd, don't you know. It wasn't as if there was anything wrong with that Country Gentleman hat. It was a remarkably priceless effort, and much admired by the lads. But, just because he preferred the Longacre, he left me flat. It was shortly after this that young Motty got the idea of bringing pals back in the small hours to continue the gay revels in the home.
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