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OTION P1CTUR!
MAGAZINE
There was a wisp of hair on the revolver. "You killed Robert Underwood . . . you . . . k . . ."
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In the midst of it the "Iron Financier" further disproved the metal he was accredited to be made of by wedding a young and lovely member of the "vurry' best Knickerbocker society, a Miss Alicia Addison. "Second Romance in Fifty Years," blared the discursive press. There were many pictures and many details.
In New Haven, Howard Jeffries, Jr., tossed away the accounts and the not less fatuous epistle from his honeymooning father and snorted. "No fool," he said, with some bitterness or 'regret, "like an old fool . . . my mother's place . . . Lord !"
Robert Underwood, his room-mate during the senior year, kicked away the account he had been reading. His bitter mouth was twisted. "Women," he said suddenly, frantically, "women . . . oh, hell . . . oh . . . hell . . . !"
He went out and got disturbingly drunk. Howard, Jr., not just as he might have been, himself, hauled him back to their rooms in the extremely early morning. He was
still confusing women with hell in the most picturesque language imaginable.
Something, not the food, drew Howard Jeffries, Jr., back to the Modest Restaurant. He had the feeling that he had never been so comfortable, so at peace, as when Annie Sands, to whom Underwood had introduced him, was bending over him with a "sunny side up," or a plebeian pork chop, or some steaming coffee. It seemed so — so sort of essential, so pre-ordained.
One night he asked her to go to the movies. When he called for her in his nifty roadster Annie was troubled.
"It isn't right, maybe," she ventured. Only villains had roadsters !
Howard Jeffries, Jr., laughed boisterously. "I'll make it all right," he told her, "wherever you are !"
He went home that night and thought of eyes as steady as the twilight and as gray, lips as smooth and
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