Booksellers and bookselling -- Fiction; Brooklyn (New York, N.Y.) -- Fiction; Mystery and detective stories
"This is the bitter parting," replied Miss Titania. "I don't want you
to know my address, Edwards. Some of my mad friends might worm it out
of you, and I don't want them coming down and bothering me. I am going
to be very busy with literature. I'll walk the rest of the way."
Edwards saluted with a grin--he worshipped the original young
heiress--and returned to his wheel.
"There's one thing I want you to do for me," said Titania. "Call up my
father and tell him I'm on the job."
"Yes, miss," said Edwards, who would have run the limousine into a
government motor truck if she had ordered it.
Miss Chapman's small gloved hand descended into an interesting purse
that was cuffed to her wrist with a bright little chain. She drew out
a nickel--it was characteristic of her that it was a very bright and
engaging looking nickel--and handed it gravely to her charioteer.
Equally gravely he saluted, and the car, after moving through certain
dignified arcs, swam swiftly away down Thackeray Boulevard.
Titania, after making sure that Edwards was out of sight, turned up
Gissing Street with a fluent pace and an observant eye. A small boy
cried, "Carry your bag, lady?" and she was about to agree, but then
remembered that she was now engaged at ten dollars a week and waved him
away. Our readers would feel a justifiable grudge if we did not
attempt a description of the young lady, and we will employ the few
blocks of her course along Gissing Street for this purpose.
Walking behind her, the observer, by the time she had reached Clemens
Place, would have seen that she was faultlessly tailored in genial
tweeds; that her small brown boots were sheltered by spats of that pale
tan complexion exhibited by Pullman porters on the Pennsylvania
Railroad; that her person was both slender and vigorous; that her
shoulders were carrying a sumptuous fur of the colour described by the
trade as nutria, or possibly opal smoke. The word chinchilla would
have occurred irresistibly to this observer from behind; he might also,
if he were the father of a family, have had a fleeting vision of many
autographed stubs in a check book. The general impression that he
would have retained, had he turned aside at Clemens Place, would be
"expensive, but worth the expense."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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