Page:Firecrackers a realistic novel.pdf/127

 of course, some poor chap lost his shirt, but usually a good gamble on the market, played with a tip from Cupid or George, would bring it back to him in no time. With Cupid as guardian, indeed, Paul believed he stood no chance of losing at all. He began to have dreams, as a matter of fact, of an independent income.

Cupid, he demanded one day, why the hell didn't you tell me long ago how damned attractive it was down here?

They were sitting in Mr. Lorillard's private office, panelled to the ceiling with Circassian walnut, richly grained and polished, their chairs and the desks, of the same wood, standing on a blue and yellow Chinese rug. The windows, opening between copper-coloured hangings, overlooked—the room was on the thirty-ninth floor—streets lying low in vast canyons formed by rows of towering sky-scrapers. The view included the bridge, gracefully swung on its cables across the East River, which was alive with tugs and barges. On a roof nearby, a lad with a long pole stirred a flock of Pigeons to flight.

Cupid, bald and podgy, whose countenance never seemed to lose a pitiful expression of anxiety, was obviously puzzled. It's all right here, of course, he replied, but just what do you mean?

Why, the game's great, the view's immense, and it's all so damned much fun.

I suppose it is, Cupid admitted lugubriously, and