“I don’t believe I’ve seen you before.”
“No; I got in just this morning.”
“From Paris?”
“No; from Austria.”
Davis looked at him with sudden interest, as though struck by a new idea.
“What did you say your name is?” he asked.
“My name is Selden.”
“Selden, that’s it. You’re not the chap who has been writing those articles in the Times?”
“Yes,” Selden admitted; “but you don’t mean to say you’ve read them?”
“Oh, no,” Davis hastened to assure him; “too heavy for me. But my sister has—she’s nutty about them. I say, can’t you come over and have lunch with us to-morrow?”