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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"The Boss of Little Arcady"


Lansdale, who has some pieces of Colonial furniture she wishes to let
go. I wondered, you know, if you'd be good enough to introduce me. I
rather thought some such formality might be advisable--I understand that
a shark named Cohen has already approached her."
Even as he spoke I recalled that Mr. Cohen's face, in profile, might
provoke the vision of a shark to a person of lively imagination.
"I shall be glad," I said, "to present you to Mrs. Lansdale."
Again had my caller's glance trailed across the breakfast table, where
the omelette, the muffins, and the coffee-urn waited. The glance was
politely unnoting, but in it there yet lurked, far back, the
unmistakable quality of a caress. In an instant I remembered, and, with
a pang of sympathy, I became his hungered brother.
"By the way, Mr. Price, are you staying at the City Hotel?"
"The man said it was the only place, you know."
"You had breakfast there this morning?" He bowed his assent eloquently,
I thought.
"Then by all means sit down and have breakfast."
"Oh, _really_, no--by _no_ means--I assure you I'd a capital
breakfast--"
"Clem!"
Clem placed a chair, into which Mr. Price dropped without loss of time,
though protesting with polished vehemence against the imposition.


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