Maitland, on
the other hand, (judging him by his preoccupied pose), was already
weary of, if not bored by, the hare-brained enterprise which,
initiated on the spur of an idle moment and directly due to a
thoughtless remark of his own, had brought him a hundred miles (or
so) through the heat of a broiling afternoon, accompanied by
spirits as ardent and irresponsible as his own, in search of the
dubious distraction afforded by the night side of the city.
As, picking its way with elephantine nicety, the motor-car
progressed down the Avenue--twilight deepening, arcs upon their
bronze columns blossoming suddenly, noiselessly into spheres of
opalescent radiance--Mr. Maitland ceased to respond, ceased even
to give heed, to the running fire of chaff (largely personal)
which amused his companions. Listlessly engaged with a cigarette,
he lounged upon the green leather cushions, half closing his eyes,
and heartily wished himself free for the evening.
But he stood committed to the humor of the majority, and lacked
entirely the shadow of an excuse to desert; in addition to which
he was altogether too lazy for the exertion of manufacturing a lie
of serviceable texture. And so he abandoned himself to his fate, even
though he foresaw with weariful particularity the programme of the
coming hours.
To begin with, thirty minutes were to be devoted to a bath and
dressing in his rooms. This was something not so unpleasant to
contemplate. It was the afterwards that repelled him: the dinner
at Sherry's, the subsequent tour of roof gardens, the late supper
at a club, and then, prolonged far into the small hours, the
session around some green-covered table in a close room reeking
with the fumes of good tobacco and hot with the fever of
gambling.
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