A wilderness of human flesh;
Crazed by avarice, lust and rum—
New York! thy name’s delirium.’.rdquo;
“Great Heavens, old man,” exclaimed Munson, when Dick had finished, “you are severe, to say the least.”
Willoughby laughed good-naturedly as he passed the match box to his friend.
“Not severe, only truthful,” he said. “You see, in New York no man dares think for himself. Everything is controlled by a machine-appointed chairman, secretary and committee, and you must hear the resolutions read before you know the doctrine you are perforce to advocate.”
Then he lit his pipe and rose from the table.
“Now, I have a lot of things to attend to, old fellow,” he resumed. “Make yourself comfortable. Here’s a bunch of Eastern newspapers—oh, I read them regularly, haven’t got rid of that bad habit yet. I’ll tell Sing Ling to have lunch ready on the stroke of noon. Then we’ll be in good time to start out for the Rancho La Siesta. So long!”