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Updated: May 1, 2025
The CHEF of the Waldorf Astoria? Yes, he does, and what's more he thinks that that miserable bit of bacon, cut with a tobacco knife from a chunk of meat that lay six days in the rain, is fit to eat. What's more, he'll eat it. So will the rest. They're all crazy together. There's another man, the Lord help him who thinks he has the "knack" of being a carpenter. He is hammering up shelves to a tree.
He drove to the Waldorf and had a light dinner with a half pint of Hock, devoured her with his eyes as they drove rapidly northward, went to a Harlem theater while she dined and forgot him, and was at the carriage door when she came forth to be driven home. Seven hours or less "had done the business," so far as Gouverneur Prime was concerned.
What you would pay a cabman to drive you from the Waldorf to Martin's. I wish you could see our menage. Such beautiful persons in grey silk kimonos who bow, and bow and slip and slide in spotless torn white stockings with one big toe. They make you ashamed of yourself for walking on your own carpet in your own shoes.
His own devoted and still young and beautiful wife was not the first devoted and young and beautiful woman to have her claim displaced. For days after the episode in the Waldorf lunch-room she moved like a conspirator, watching, thinking. Warren had never seemed more considerate of her happiness, more satisfied with life.
"Why, are you prepared to head him off in that direction? By Jove! I'm right glad to know it. Well, I'll be around to the Waldorf in the course of a day or two No, much obliged, but I don't care to go into the club-rooms to-night; in fact, I haven't been in there since the governor made that after-dinner speech of his. Good-night!"
He found his morocco-bound photograph album awaiting him when he arrived at the Waldorf Hotel next day, and during the afternoon he took it in his hand and strolled quietly and casually into Franklin Fullaway's rooms. Everything there looked as he had always seen it Mrs.
'Hinceforth, he says, 'he's ast to no picnics iv th' Buckingham Palace Chowder Club, he says. An' th' nex' day Willum Waldorf Asthor met him at th' races where he was puttin' down a bit iv money an' spoke to him, an' th' Prince iv Wales gave him wan in th' eye. He must've had something in his hand, f'r the pa-aper said he cut him. P'raps 'twas his scipter.
He was sticking his little evil, eager red tongue out at the world. And he wore a very smart and woolly white sweater, of the imported kind with a monogram done in black. The traffic policeman put up his hand. The 'bus rumbled on down the street. Names that had always been remotely mythical to her now met her eye and became realities. Maillard's. And that great red stone castle was the Waldorf.
This is just a friendly chat and no more." "Besides," Philip continued, lighting another cigarette, "I think I understood you to say that you had already arrived at the conclusion that I was Douglas Romilly?" "Not precisely that," the detective replied. "All that I discovered was that you were the man who registered at the Waldorf Hotel as Mr. Douglas Romilly."
He looked back at the huge side of the steamer, the floor of the Custom House, about which were still dotted little crowds of his fellow passengers. It was the disintegration of a wonderful memory his farewell.... At the Waldorf he found himself greeted with unexpected cordiality.
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