You've waited for it. You get it. All right. It's graft.
"But I'm telling you about Artemisia Blye. She was from Kansas and she
suggested corn in all of its phases. Her hair was as yellow as the silk;
her form was as tall and graceful as a stalk in the low grounds during a
wet summer; her eyes were as big and startling as bunions, and green was
her favorite color.
"On my last trip into the cool recesses of your sequestered city I met a
human named Vaucross. He was worth--that is, he had a million. He told
me he was in business on the street. 'A sidewalk merchant?' says I,
sarcastic. 'Exactly,' says he, 'Senior partner of a paving concern.'
"I kind of took to him. For this reason, I met him on Broadway one night
when I was out of heart, luck, tobacco and place. He was all silk hat,
diamonds and front. He was all front. If you had gone behind him you
would have only looked yourself in the face. I looked like a cross
between Count Tolstoy and a June lobster. I was out of luck. I had--but
let me lay my eyes on that dealer again.
"Vaucross stopped and talked to me a few minutes and then he took me to
a high-toned restaurant to eat dinner. There was music, and then some
Beethoven, and Bordelaise sauce, and cussing in French, and frangipangi,
and some hauteur and cigarettes.
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