The dinner was simple: beef stewed with potatoes and carrots and
onions, and pie, and real coffee. But it measured up to Hunt's boast:
the chef of the Ritz, limited to so simple a menu, could indeed have
done no better. And Larry, after his prison fare, was dining as dine
the gods.

The irrepressible Hunt, trying to read this new specimen that had come
under his observation, sought to draw Larry out. "Barney Palmer and
Old Jimmie were here this afternoon, wanting to see you. They've got
something big waiting for you. I suppose you're all ready to jump in
and put it over with a wallop."

"I'm going to put something over with a wallop--but I guess business
will have to wait until Barney, Jimmie, and I have a talk. Can you
spare me a little more of that stew?"

His manner of speaking was a quiet announcement to Hunt that his plans
were for the present a closed subject. Hunt felt balked, for this
lean, alert, much-talked-of adventurer piqued him greatly; but he
switched to other subjects, and during the rest of the meal did most
of the talking. The Duchess was silent, and seemingly was concerned
only with her food. Larry got in a fair portion of speech, but for the
most part his attention, except for that required for eating, was
fixed upon Maggie.

How she had sprung up since he had last seen her! Almost a woman now--
and destined to be a beauty! And more than just a beauty: she was
colorful, vital, high-strung. Before he had gone away he had regarded
her with something akin to the negligent affection of an older