New York.

I now called him on the telephone and was cordially invited to visit
him, and that, immediately.

The servants eyed me suspiciously and sent me up by the tradesmen's
elevator. Milton flew into a fury over it. His friend was his friend, no
matter how he was dressed--he wanted them to remember that, in the
future!

He brought out a bottle of wine, had a fine luncheon set before me. I
went for the food, but pushed the wine aside. He drank the bottle
himself. I was still, for my part, clinging to shreds of what I had
learned at "Perfection City." ...

He rushed me to his tailor. I had told him of my first poems' being
accepted.

"Of course, you must be better dressed when you go to see the editor."

The tailor looked me over, in whimsical astonishment. He vowed that he
could not have a suit ready for me by ten the next morning, as Milton
was ordering.

"Then you have a suit here for me about ready."

"It is ready now."

"Alter it immediately to fit Mr. Gregory ... we're about the same
height."