His mind was busy as he packed his suitcase. Already he had forgotten

his compunctions of the early morning; he moved about methodically,

calculating roughly what expense money he would need, and the line of

attack, if any, required at the office. Between Norada and that old

brick house at Haverly lay his story. Ten years of it. He was closing

his bag when he remembered the little girl in the blue dress, at the

theater. He straightened and scowled. After a moment he snapped the bag

shut. Damn it all, if Clark had chosen to He up with a girl, that was on

Clark's conscience, not his.

But he was vaguely uncomfortable.

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"It's a queer world, Joe," he observed to the waiter, who had come in

for the breakfast dishes.

"Yes, sir. It is that," said Joe.




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