r Corny had put up his team and dined at a
lunch-counter that made immediateness a specialty, he would clothe
himself in evening raiment as correct as any you will see in the palm
rooms. Then he would betake himself to that ravishing, radiant roadway
devoted to Thespis, Thais, and Bacchus.

For a time he would stroll about the lobbies of the best hotels, his
soul steeped in blissful content. Beautiful women, cooing like doves,
but feathered like birds of Paradise, flicked him with their robes as
they passed. Courtly gentlemen attended them, gallant and assiduous.
And Corny's heart within him swelled like Sir Lancelot's, for the
mirror spoke to him as he passed and said: "Corny, lad, there's not
a guy among 'em that looks a bit the sweller than yerself. And you
drivin' of a truck and them swearin' off their taxes and playin' the
red in art galleries with the best in the land!"

And the mirrors spake the truth. Mr. Corny Brannigan had acquired the
outward polish, if nothing more. Long and keen observation of polite
society had gained for him its manner, its genteel air, and--most
difficult of acquirement--its repose and ease.

Now and then in the hotels Corny had managed conversation and
temporary acquaintance with substantial, if not distinguished, guests.
With many of these he had exchanged cards, and the ones he received he
carefully treasured for his own use later. Leaving the hotel lobbies,
Corny would stroll leisurely about, lingering at the theatre entrance,
dropping into the fashionable restaurants as if seeking some friend.
He rarely patronized any of these places; he was no bee come to suck
honey, but a butterfly flashing his wings among the flowers whose
calyces held no sweets for him. His wages were not large enough to
furnish him with more than the outside garb of the gentleman. To have
been one of the beings he so cunningly imitated, Corny Brannigan would
have given his right hand.

One night Corny had an adventure. After absorbing the delights of an
hour's lounging in the principal hotels along Broadway, he passed up
into the stronghold of Thespis. Cab drivers hailed him as a likely
fare, to his prideful content. Languishing eyes were turned upon him
as a hopeful source of lobsters and the delectable, ascendant globules
of effervescence. These overtures and unconscious compliments Corny
swallowed as manna, and hoped Bill, the off horse, would be less lame
in the left forefoot in the morning.

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