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Updated: August 9, 2024
"I don't know how I am," retorted Gatewood irritably; "how the devil should a man know how he is?" "Everything going to the bowwows, as usual, dear friend?" "As usual. Oh, read your paper, Tommy! You know well enough I'm not one of those tail-wagging imbeciles who wakes up in the morning singing like a half-witted lark.
What mental, what spiritual stimulus can a man expect to find in a club? Why, Kerns, when I look back a year and think what I was, and when I look at you and think what you still are " "John," said Mrs. Gatewood softly. "Oh, he knows it!" insisted her husband, "don't you, Tommy? You know the sort of life you're leading, don't you?
Nor did he notice her lingering, nor mark her as she stole from the room, brown eyes saddened and thoughtful, wondering, too, that there should be in the world so much room for sorrow. Gatewood, burdened with restlessness and gnawed by curiosity, consumed a week in prowling about the edifice where Keen & Co. carried on an interesting profession.
Your Tracer doesn't intend to stop my hansom and drag me into a cave, does he? You haven't put knock-outs into that Burgundy, have you? Then what in the dickens are you laughing at?" But Gatewood, on the sidewalk under the lamplight, was still laughing as Kerns drove away, for he had recognized in the cab driver a man he had seen in Mr.
The dinner that Kerns had planned for himself and Gatewood was an ingenious one, cunningly contrived to discontent Gatewood with home fare and lure him by its seductive quality into frequent revisits to the club which was responsible for such delectable wines and viands. A genial glow already enveloped Gatewood and pleasantly suffused Kerns.
"He's teaching me the real game.... I left the others when Gray came up; Cuyp, Phil Gatewood, and some other men are practising. You'll play to-morrow, won't you? It's such a splendid game."
But that can't be helped now." Gatewood, more excited and uncomfortable than he had ever been in all his life, watched Keen intently. "Too bad, too bad," muttered the Tracer to himself. "The child needs the encouragement.
And, after her talk with the Tracer of Lost Persons, Mrs. Gatewood knew that her favorite among all her husband's friends, Mr.
Kerns until she is ready to receive him. But of this he must know nothing. Good-by, Mr. Gatewood, and would you be kind enough to present my compliments to Mrs. Gatewood?" "Indeed I will! We never can forget what you have done for us. Good-by." "Good-by, Mr. Gatewood. Try to keep Mr. Kerns amused for two or three hours.
She did so; he attempted to concentrate his attention, and succeeded sufficiently to look as though some vestige of intellect remained in him. He saw her pick up a pad and pencil; the contour and grace of two deliciously fashioned hands arrested his mental process once more. "I beg your pardon," he said hastily; "what were you saying, Miss Southerland?" "Nothing, Mr. Gatewood. I did not speak."
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