ials"--bearing in
gold letters his name "Brent Biffton" in full on the rice paper--dropped
into the proffered chair and repeated the question:

"Have you seen Garry?"

"Yes--upstairs. Got a deck in the little room. Been there all afternoon.
Might go up and butt in. Touch that bell before you go and say what."

"No--I won't drink anything, if you don't mind. You heard about Garry's
winning the prize?"

"No." Biffton hadn't moved since he had elongated his foot in search of
Jack's chair.

"Why Garry got first prize in his office. I went with him to the supper;
he's with Holker Morris, you know."

"Yes. Rather nice. Yes, I did hear. The fellows blew him off upstairs.
Kept it up till the steward shut 'em out. Awfully clever fellow, Minott.
My Governor wanted me to do something in architecture, but it takes
such a lot of time... Funny how a fellow will dress himself." Biffton's
sleepy eyes were sweeping the Avenue. "Pendergast just passed wearing
white spats--A month too late for spats--ought to know better. Touch the
bell, Breen, and say what."

Again Jack thanked him, and again Biffton relapsed into silence. Rather
a damper on a man of his calibre, when a fellow wouldn't touch a bell
and say what.

Jack having a certain timidity about "butting in"--outsiders didn't do
such things where he came from--settled himself into the depths of the
comfortable leather-covered arm-chair and waited for Garry to finish
his game. From where he sat he could not only overlook the small tables
holding a choice collection of little tear-bottles, bowls of crushed ice
and high-pressure siphons, but his eye also took in the stretch beyond,
the club windows commanding the view up and down and quite across the
Avenue, as well as the vista to the left.

This outlook was the most valuable asset the Magnolia possessed. If the
parasol was held flat, with its back to the club-house, and no glimpse
of the pretty face possible, it was, of course, unquestionable evidence
to the member looking over the top of his cocktail that neither the
hour or the place was propitious. If, however, it swayed to the right or
left, or better still, was folded tight, then it was equally conclusive
that not only was the coast clear, but that any number of things might
happen, either at Tiffany's, or the Academy, or wherever else one of
those altogether accidental--"Why-who-would-have-thought-of-seeing-you-
here" kind of meetings take place--meetings so delightfu