Then I glanced up at the Metropolitan tower, higher
but far less romantic in appearance, and saw by the big illuminated
clock that it was nearly half-past eleven.
I crossed back over Broadway, at last, and turned down Twenty-third
Street in the direction of the Marathon, when, just at the corner, I
came face to face with three men as they swung around the corner in
the same direction, and, with a little start, I recognised Grady and
Simmonds, with M. Pigot between them. Evidently Grady had felt it
incumbent upon himself to make good his promise in the most liberal
manner, and to display the wonders of the Great White Way from end to
end--the ceremony no doubt involving the introduction of the stranger
to a number of typical American drinks--and the result of all this
was that Grady's legs wobbled perceptibly. As a matter of racial
comparison, I glanced at M. Pigot's, but they seemed in every way
normal.
"Hello, Lester," said Simmonds, in a voice which showed that he had
not wholly escaped the influences of the evening's celebration; and
even Grady condescended to nod, from which I inferred that he was
feeling very unusually happy.
"Hello, Simmonds," I answered, and, as I turned westward with them,
he dropped back and; fell into step beside me.
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