or they knew he was after Grady, and yet it was
evident enough that they agreed with him.

"Come on, Lester," he added; "we might as well be getting back. I can
send the boat down again after the other boys," and he turned down
the stair.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE SECRET OF THE CABINET

Godfrey bade me good-bye at the dock and hastened away to the office
to write his story, which, I could guess, would be concerned with the
manners of Americans, especially with Grady's. As for me, that whiff
of salt air had put an unaccustomed edge to my appetite, and I took a
cab to Murray's, deciding to spend the remainder of the evening
there, over a good dinner. Except in a certain mood, Murray's does
not appeal to me; the pseudo-Grecian temple in the corner, with water
cascading down its steps, the make-believe clouds which float across
the ceiling, the tables of glass lighted from beneath--all this,
ordinarily, seems trivial and banal; but occasionally, in an esoteric
mood, I like Murray's, and can even find something picturesque and
romantic in bright gowns, and gleaming shoulders, and handsome faces
seen amid these bizarre surroundings. And then, of course, there is
always the cooking, which leaves nothing to be desired.

I was in the right mood to-night for the enjoyment of the place, and
I ambled through the dinner in a fashion so leisurely and trifled so
long over coffee and cigarette that it was far past ten o'clock when
I came out again into Forty-second Street. After an instant's
hesitation, I decided to walk home, and turned back toward Broadway,
already filling with the after-theatre crowd.

Often as I have seen it, Broadway at night is still a fascinating
place to me, with its blazing signs, its changing crowds, its
clanging street traffic, its bright shop-windows. Grady was right in
saying that "gay Paree" had nothing like it; nor has any other city
that I know. It is, indeed, unique and thoroughly American; and I
walked along it that night in the most leisurely fashion, savouring
it to the full; pausing, now and then, for a glance at a shop-window,
and stopping at the Hoffman House--now denuded, alas! of its
Bouguereau--to replenish my supply of cigarettes.

Reaching Madison Square, at last, I walked out under the trees, as I
almost always do, to have a look at the Flatiron Building, white
against the sky. Then I glanced up at the Metropolitan tower, higher
but far less romantic in appearance, and saw by the