“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
up his bill to to the Earl of Toppingham. Would n’t that jar you?”
“Oh, well,” retorted Micky, climbing into the cab. “drive me down to the Cunard Pier!”
As they jogged along Fifth Avenue the electric lights flashed out in pale blue lines and the tops of the tall buildings faded into the darkening sky. He had finished his last cruise! His job with the Marconi Company was over. The leggy little girl with the big dog was his! And there was poor Cosmo racing across the sea to fight the niggers in Africa under a blazing sun while he—he was going back to England—dear, rotten old England, as Graeme had called it, to begin a new and very different life, a life of responsibility, of gravity, he hoped of usefulness—with Evelyn beside him. It had been a strange mix-up, yet it had all come out better than any one could have expected. And the stangest feature of it all had been the way in which Fate had chucked him and Graeme together.
Across the way blazed the windows of the St. Regis, reminding him of his quasi-engagement with Mrs. Trevelyan for five o’clock.297
