So if I come to you as a comrade, don't think for a moment that any sympathy is due me. Alas, man belongs to a restless sex, Stephanie, and the four winds are less irresponsible and inconstant!
As a comrade, I should delight in you. You are a very wonderful girl—but you belong to Cleland and not to me. Don't worry. I'm absolutely satisfied. Until we meet, then,
Your grateful friend,
OSWALD.
"I'll get a special for this letter on our way uptown," he said, voicing his thoughts aloud to the girl who was scrubbing her painted lips and cheeks behind the screen.
When she emerged, pinning on her hat, he had packed a suitcase and was ready.
They found a taxi in Washington Square.
On the way uptown he mailed his letter to Stephanie; sent a district messenger with his letter to Cleland's studio; sent a night letter to Runner's Rest saying that he would take accommodations on a train which would be due at Runner's Rest station at eight next morning; stopped at the darkened and barred house of Square Jack Hennesey, and was admitted after being scrutinized through a sliding grill.
When he came out half an hour later he told the driver to go to the Grand Central Station, and got into the cab...
"Anne," he said gaily, "here's the two thousand. Count it."