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 being too light to class as Columbus. He was Magellan.

After he'd sent Felice up with the news he was here, he dallied before the elevators till Doris came down. She'd just left a mirror, evidently; smartness and style couldn't commence to suggest her. She was a stunner.

"George" she called him; and he called her "Doris"; and he led her into the main dining room for luncheon, taking a table at a window directly over the Avenue. I sat down alone a few tables away. It was nearly twelve; and they went at luncheon lightly,—cold lobster, mainly, I took the same and, to that extent, mingled. I didn't like George; not at all. I liked him even less than Magellan. He had a proprietorish way with him which was more irritating now that he was sober and out of costume.

She didn't exactly play up to him; she was polite, registering interest in what he said, watching the parade of motor cars and pedestrians below their window. Have I said it was a clear, chilly, pleasant winter day?

They never even so much as glanced idly toward the door through which Cantrell and his government men might come. They seemed to