CHAPTER II
NEW YORK
The Duke-errant had prepared himself for the first glimpse of the battlements of lower New York, but as the Bermudian came up the bay that rosy spring afternoon, the western sun gilding the upper half of the castellated towers which rose from a sea of moving shadows, it seemed a dream city, the fortress of a fairy tale. His fingers tingled to express this frozen music, to relieve it from its spell of enchantment, and phrases of Debussy's "Cathédrale Engloutie" came welling up within him from almost forgotten depths.
"Parbleu! She's grown some, Pete, since I saw her last!"
This from his grotesque companion who was not moved by concord of sweet sounds. "They've buried the Trinity clean out of sight."
"The Trinity?" questioned Peter solemnly.
"Bless your heart——" laughed Coast, "I'd say so——But I mean, the church——And that must be the Woolworth Building yonder. Where's yer St. Paul's and Kremlin now? Some village,—what?"
"Gorgeous!" muttered Peter.