He had not dressed for evening; he wore a dark business suit
that would not be questioned even where the waiters served the spaghetti
in their shirt sleeves.
So John Reginald Forster began to search his clothes for money; because
the more cheaply you dine, the more surely must you pay. All of the
thirteen pockets, large and small, of his business suit he explored
carefully and found not a penny. His bank book showed a balance of five
figures to his credit in the Old Ironsides Trust Company, but--
Forster became aware of a man nearby at his left hand who was really
regarding him with some amusement. He looked like any business man of
thirty or so, neatly dressed and standing in the attitude of one waiting
for a street car. But there was no car line on that avenue. So his
proximity and unconcealed curiosity seemed to Forster to partake of the
nature of a personal intrusion. But, as he was a consistent seeker after
"What's Around the Corner," instead of manifesting resentment he only
turned a half-embarrassed smile upon the other's grin of amusement.
"All in?" asked the intruder, drawing nearer.
"Seems so," said Forster. "Now, I thought there was a dollar in--"
"Oh, I know," said the other man, with a laugh.
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