Of
course I prospected for the arched gate and was there at nine. The same
Nubian attendant opened the gate promptly on time, and I went inside and
sat on a bench by a perfumed fountain with the veiled lady. We had quite
an extended chat. She was Myrtle Thompson, a lady journalist, who was
writing up the Turkish harems for a Chicago newspaper. She said she
noticed the New York cut of my clothes in the bazaar and wondered if
I couldn't work something into the metropolitan papers about it."
"I see," said Forster. "I see."
"I've canoed through Canada," said Ives, "down many rapids and over many
falls. But I didn't seem to get what I wanted out of it because I knew
there were only two possible outcomes--I would either go to the bottom
or arrive at the sea level. I've played all games at cards; but the
mathematicians have spoiled that sport by computing the percentages.
I've made acquaintances on trains, I've answered advertisements, I've
rung strange door-bells, I've taken every chance that presented itself;
but there has always been the conventional ending--the logical
conclusion to the premise."
"I know," repeated Forster. "I've felt it all. But I've had few
chances to take my chance at chances.
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