It was possibly the rose-coloured mist before his eyes that

prevented him from observing the hurried approach of a faultlessly

attired young man, aged about twenty-one, who during George's

preparations for ensuring privacy in his cab had been galloping in

pursuit in a resolute manner that suggested a well-dressed

bloodhound somewhat overfed and out of condition. Only when this

person stopped and began to pant within a few inches of his face

did he become aware of his existence.

"You, sir!" said the bloodhound, removing a gleaming silk hat,

mopping a pink forehead, and replacing the luminous superstructure

once more in position. "You, sir!"

Whatever may be said of the possibility of love at first sight, in

which theory George was now a confirmed believer, there can be no

doubt that an exactly opposite phenomenon is of frequent

occurrence. After one look at some people even friendship is

impossible. Such a one, in George's opinion, was this gurgling

excrescence underneath the silk hat. He comprised in his single

person practically all the qualities which George disliked most. He

was, for a young man, extraordinarily obese. Already a second

edition of his chin had been published, and the perfectly-cut

morning coat which encased his upper section bulged out in an

opulent semi-circle. He wore a little moustache, which to George's

prejudiced eye seemed more a complaint than a moustache. His face

was red, his manner dictatorial, and he was touched in the wind.

Take him for all in all he looked like a bit of bad news.

George had been educated at Lawrenceville and Harvard, and had

subsequently had the privilege of mixing socially with many of New

York's most prominent theatrical managers; so he knew how to behave

himself. No Vere de Vere could have exhibited greater repose of

manner.

"And what," he inquired suavely, leaning a little further out of

the cab, "is eating you, Bill?"

A messenger boy, two shabby men engaged in non-essential

industries, and a shop girl paused to observe the scene. Time was

not of the essence to these confirmed sightseers. The shop girl was

late already, so it didn't matter if she was any later; the

messenger boy had nothing on hand except a message marked

"Important: Rush"; and as for the two shabby men, their only

immediate plans consisted of a vague intention of getting to some

public house and leaning against the wall; so George's time was

their time. One of the pair put his head on one side and said:

"What ho!"; the other picked up a cigar stub from the gutter and

began to smoke.

"A young lady just got into your cab," said the stout young man.




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