solved them in his masterful way,
he left the office in his big car, almost sighing with relief at
anticipation of the approaching double Martini. Rarely was he made
tipsy. His constitution was too strong for that. Instead, he was that
direst of all drinkers, the steady drinker, deliberate and controlled,
who averaged a far higher quantity of alcohol than the irregular and
violent drinker. For six weeks hard-running he had seen nothing of
Dede except in the office, and there he resolutely refrained from
making approaches. But by the seventh Sunday his hunger for her
overmastered him. It was a stormy day.

A heavy southeast gale was blowing, and squall after squall of rain and
wind swept over the city. He could not take his mind off of her, and a
persistent picture came to him of her sitting by a window and sewing
feminine fripperies of some sort. When the time came for his first
pre-luncheon cocktail to be served to him in his rooms, he did not take
it.

Filled with a daring determination, he glanced at his note book for
Dede's telephone number, and called for the switch.

At first it was her landlady's daughter who was raised, but in a minute
he heard the voice he had been hungry to hear.

"I just wanted to tell you that I'm coming out to see you," he said.
"I didn't want to break in on you without warning, that was all."

"Has something happened?" came her voice.

"I'll tell you when I get there," he evaded.

He left the red car two blocks away and arrived on foot at the pretty,
three-storied, shingled Berkeley house. For an instant only, he was
aware of an inward hesitancy, but the next moment he rang the bell. He
knew that what he was doing was in direct violation of her wishes, and
that he was setting her a difficult task to receive as a Sunday caller
the multimillionaire and notorious Elam Harnish of newspaper fame. On
the other hand, the one thing he did not expect of her was what he
would have termed "silly female capers."

And in this he was not disappointed.

She came herself to the door to receive him and shake hands with him.
He hung his mackintosh and hat on the rack in the comfortable square
hall and turned to her for direction.

"They are busy in there," she said, indicating the parlor from which
came the boisterous voices of young people, and through the open door
of which he could see several college youths. "So you will have to
come into my rooms."

She led the way through the