The
harder I found the story to get, the more I wanted it.
With some misgivings about being admitted, I rang the bell of the
splendid, though not very modern, Dodge residence. An English
butler, with a nose that must have been his fortune, opened the
door and gravely informed me that Mr. Dodge was not at home, but
was expected at any moment.
Once in, I was not going lightly to give up that advantage. I
bethought myself of his daughter, Elaine, one of the most popular
debutantes of the season, and sent in my card to her, on a chance
of interesting her and seeing her father, writing on the bottom of
the card: "Would like to interview Mr. Dodge regarding Clutching
Hand."
Summoning up what assurance I had, which is sometimes
considerable, I followed the butler down the hall as he bore my
card. As he opened the door of the drawing room I caught a vision
of a slip of a girl, in an evening gown.
Elaine Dodge was both the ingenue and the athlete--the thoroughly
modern type of girl--equally at home with tennis and tango, table
talk and tea. Vivacious eyes that hinted at a stunning amber brown
sparkled beneath masses of the most wonderful auburn hair. Her
pearly teeth, when she smiled, were marvellous. And she smiled
often, for life to her seemed a continuous film of enjoyment.
Near her I recognized from his pictures, Perry Bennett, the rising
young corporation lawyer, a mighty good looking fellow, with an
affable, pleasing way about him, perhaps thirty-five years old or
so, but already prominent and quite friendly with Dodge.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25