...
Abstractedly Maitland frowned, tersely summing up: "Beastly!"--in
an undertone.
At this the green car wheeled abruptly round a corner below
Thirty-fourth Street, slid half a block or more east, and came to
a palpitating halt. Maitland, looking up, recognized the entrance
to his apartments, and sighed with relief for the brief respite
from boredom that was to be his. He rose, negligently shaking off
his duster, and stepped down to the sidewalk.
Somebody in the car called a warning after him, and turning for a
moment he stood at attention, an eyebrow raised quizzically,
cigarette drooping from a corner of his mouth, hat pushed back
from his forehead, hands in coat pockets: a tall, slender,
sparely-built figure of a man, clothed immaculately in flannels.
When at length he was able to make himself heard, "Good enough,"
he said clearly, though without raising his voice. "Sherry's in an
hour. Right. Now, behave yourselves."
"Mind you show up on time!"
"Never fear," returned Maitland over his shoulder.
A witticism was flung back at him from the retreating car, but
spent itself unregarded. Maitland's attention was temporarily
distracted by the unusual--to say the least--sight of a young and
attractive woman coming out of a home for confirmed bachelors.
The apartment house happened to be his own property. A substantial
and old-fashioned edifice, situated in the middle of a quiet
block, it contained but five roomy and comfortable suites,
--in other words, one to a floor; and these were without
exception tenanted by unmarried men of Maitland's own circle and
acquaintance.
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