author - "Harold MacGrath"
f the grille in Seventy-third Street.He leaned against the bars, panting, but completely and thoroughly reveneered. "Of all the colossal tomfools!" he said, aloud. "What in thunder am I going to do now?" "Well, Aloysius," boomed a heavy voice, which was followed by a still heavier hand, "you might come along with me; the walking's good. Bell out o' order? Was there any beer in the ice-chest?" The policeman peered under the peak of Armitage's cap. "I
nd; saw also the open wonder on the reporter's pleasant face."Who is your friend, Norton?" Braine asked indifferently, his head still unturned. "Stanley Hargreave. Met him in Hongkong when I was sent over to handle a part of the revolution. War correspondence stuff. First time I ever ran across him on Broadway at night. We've since had some powwows over some rare books. Queer old cock; brave as a lion, but as quiet as a mouse." "Bookish, eh? My kind. Bring him
Kathlyn with evasions. Frowning,he replaced the order in the box, which he put away in a drawer. Itwas all arrant nonsense, anyhow; nothing could possibly happen; ifthere did, he would feel certain that he no longer dwelt in a realworkaday world. The idle whim of a sardonic old man; nothing more thanthat."Father, is the king dead?" "Dead! What makes you ask that, Kit?" "The past tense; you said he was, not is." "Yes, he's dead, and the news came this morning.
f the grille in Seventy-third Street.He leaned against the bars, panting, but completely and thoroughly reveneered. "Of all the colossal tomfools!" he said, aloud. "What in thunder am I going to do now?" "Well, Aloysius," boomed a heavy voice, which was followed by a still heavier hand, "you might come along with me; the walking's good. Bell out o' order? Was there any beer in the ice-chest?" The policeman peered under the peak of Armitage's cap. "I
nd; saw also the open wonder on the reporter's pleasant face."Who is your friend, Norton?" Braine asked indifferently, his head still unturned. "Stanley Hargreave. Met him in Hongkong when I was sent over to handle a part of the revolution. War correspondence stuff. First time I ever ran across him on Broadway at night. We've since had some powwows over some rare books. Queer old cock; brave as a lion, but as quiet as a mouse." "Bookish, eh? My kind. Bring him
Kathlyn with evasions. Frowning,he replaced the order in the box, which he put away in a drawer. Itwas all arrant nonsense, anyhow; nothing could possibly happen; ifthere did, he would feel certain that he no longer dwelt in a realworkaday world. The idle whim of a sardonic old man; nothing more thanthat."Father, is the king dead?" "Dead! What makes you ask that, Kit?" "The past tense; you said he was, not is." "Yes, he's dead, and the news came this morning.