I've
gotten used to it myself. Now sit down. Have a smoke?" He pushed a box
of cigarettes along the table. "And tell us what's the news on
Broadway."
"You're a New-Yorker?"
"Oh, I've galloped up and down the Big Thoroughfare a good many times
in the days of my youth," grinned Carton, helping himself to a
cigarette. "I'm an Easterner, all right; or, rather, I was an
Easterner. I guess I belong to this man's country now."
"What school?"
"Yale. '05."
"Why, that's my school! I was a '06 man."
"I know it." Garton nodded over the match he was touching to his
cigarette. "You're Greek Conniston, son of the big Conniston who does
things on the Street. But we didn't happen to travel in the same
class. I was shy on the money end of it. Oh, I remember you, all
right. I saw that record run of yours around left end to a touchdown.
Gad, that was a great day! I went crazy then with a thousand other
fellows. I remember," with an amused chuckle, "jumping up and down on
a fat man's toes, yelling into his face until I must have split his
ear-drum! Oh yes, I had two pegs in those days. The fat man got mad,
the piker, and knocked me as flat as a pancake! I guess he never went
to Yale."
For ten minutes they chatted about old college days, games lost and
won, men and women they both had known in the East. And then,
naturally, conversation switched to the work being done in Rattlesnake
Valley.
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