"
"I guess you can walk to the door with me," said the girl hesitatingly,
but with a certain pleased flutter. "Still I never heard anything extra
good about Wall Street brokers, or sports who go to prize fights,
either. Ain't you got any other recommendations?"
"I think you're the swellest looker I've had my lamps on in little old
New York," said Cork impressively.
"That'll be about enough of that, now. Ain't you the kidder!" She
modified her chiding words by a deep, long, beaming, smile-embellished
look at her cavalier. "We'll drink our beer before we go, ha?"
A waiter sang. The tobacco smoke grew denser, drifting and rising in
spirals, waves, tilted layers, cumulus clouds, cataracts and suspended
fogs like some fifth element created from the ribs of the ancient four.
Laughter and chat grew louder, stimulated by Rooney's liquids and
Rooney's gallant hospitality to Lady Nicotine.
One o'clock struck. Down-stairs there was a sound of closing and
locking doors. Frank pulled down the green shades of the front windows
carefully. Rooney went below in the dark hall and stood at the front
door, his cigarette cached in the hollow of his hand. Thenceforth
whoever might seek admittance must present a countenance familiar to
Rooney's hawk's eye--the countenance of a true sport.
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