As if Destiny were suiting her plans to his, one of the first persons he saw as he entered the lobby of the Cosmopolis was the long boy. He was standing at the bookstall, reading as much of a morning paper as could be read free under the vigilant eyes of the presiding girl. Both he and she were observing the unwritten rules which govern these affairs—to wit, that you may read without interference as much as can be read without touching the paper. If you touch the paper, you lose, and have to buy.
“Well, well, well!” said Archie. “Here we are again, what!” He prodded the boy amiably in the lower ribs. “You’re just the chap I was looking for. Got anything on for the time being?”
The boy said he had no engagements.
“Then I want you to stagger round with me to a chappie I know on Sixth Avenue. It’s only a couple of blocks away. I think I can do you a bit of good. Put you on to something tolerably ripe, if you know what I mean. Trickle along, laddie. You don’t need a hat.”
They found Mr. Blake brooding over his troubles in an empty shop.
“Cheer up, old thing!” said Archie. “The relief expedition has arrived.” He directed his companion’s gaze to the poster. “Cast your eye over that. How does that strike you?”
The long boy scanned the poster. A gleam appeared in his rather dull eye.
“Well?”
“Some people have all the luck!” said the long boy, feelingly.
“Would you like to compete, what?”