"
Maggie looked on breathlessly at the two men, bewildered by this new
light in which Hunt was presented, and fascinated by the tense
alertness of her hero, Larry.
Slowly Larry's tensity dissipated. "I don't know about the rest of
your make-up," he said slowly, "but as a painter you're a whale."
"The rest of him's all right, too," put in the dry, unemotional voice
of the Duchess. "Dinner's ready. Come on."
As they moved to the table Hunt clapped a big hand on Larry's
shoulder. "And to think," he chuckled, "it took a crook fresh from
Sing Sing to discover me as a great artist! You're clever, Larry--
clever! Maggie, get the corkscrew into action and fill the glasses
with the choicest vintage of H2O. A toast. Here's to Larry!"
CHAPTER V
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.
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