Nick
was pretty sure to go to one of the best hotels. He wanted to see life, no
doubt, and get his money's worth. Her smile was as tender as Carmen's
smile could be, however, and she was pleased that he was not "dressing up"
to make an impression on pretty women in the East.
"I don't care what anybody thinks about me in New York," said he. "As long
as _you_ excuse me for not having on my Sunday-go-to-meeting rags to dine
with you, I don't mind the rest."
"I thought you were never coming," she said, changing the subject.
"So did I, by George! I thought the fellow'd never go."
"Was it a deputation to say good-bye?"
"Lord, no, Mrs. Gaylor! It was a chap you don't know, I guess. I only ran
up against him lately, since I sold my gusher to the United Oil Company.
He's their lawyer--and does some work for the railroad too. Smart sort of
man he seems to be, though kind of stiff when you first know him: between
forty and forty-five, maybe: name's Henry Morehouse, a brother of a bank
manager in San Francisco."
"James Morehouse the banker is a very rich, important man," said Carmen,
somewhat impressed by the idea of Nick's new friend who had stayed too
long. "I've never met his family myself. You know how close I was kept
till a year ago.
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