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Updated: May 24, 2025
One evening Rudolf was strolling along a crosstown street in the older central part of the city. Two streams of people filled the sidewalks the home-hurrying, and that restless contingent that abandons home for the specious welcome of the thousand-candle-power table d'hote. The young adventurer was of pleasing presence, and moved serenely and watchfully.
A noisy, gleeful group formed around him. "Rip, where did you ever learn that great work?" "Who taught you?" "Say, how long have you been hiding that thousand-candle-power light under a bushel?" "Rip, it was the greatest work I ever saw a boy do." "Will you show me -after the nine has been made up, of course?" "How did you ever get it down so slick?"
Willy P. Goldmark's yellow and gold drawing-room, under a thousand-candle-power chandelier, with reflectors aimed at her from every point of the compass. I had seen her wincing and shivering there in her outraged nudity at one of the Goldmark "crushes." "But you can't get her, Neave," I objected. "No, I can't get her," he said.
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