"Yes, I saw her onst in a church fair. She hit me all right. Slender brunette, very aristocracy, with the kind of eyes that if you're fond of brunettes--seem like--"
"How old is she?"
"Hell, how do I know! Twenty--twenty-one--something around there. Just a girl."
"And the prettiest one in Carthage?" repeated Adair, sipping his cocktail as though the description pleased him.
"Well, I would leave my happy home for her," said Larry, with a grin. "Pretty--I'd say she was pretty--pretty enough to eat."
"Lives out Chestnut Avenue way, doesn't she?"
"Yes, in the stone house that's set back in a kind of park, with a big gate in front and a driveway. The Ladds' are at the top of the top, you know. My, I felt I was breaking into the swell bunch myself when she told my fortune for a dollar. If I had had the nerve and the money I guess she would be telling it yet! And she smiled so sweet when she took it, like I was as good as anybody. God forgive me if I seem to talk disrespectful of her, for she's a lady through and through, and I knew it even if I was only a bar-keeper."
"Toss you for the drinks," said Adair, draining his glass. "Hand over the box, Larry."
"Sure Mike," said the bar-keeper rattling the dice.
Adair encountered an acquaintance, a commercial traveler named Hellman, on the sidewalk outside.