CHAPTER II

The next day was Sunday; hence it brought no Mail. Slowly it
dragged along. At a ridiculously early hour Monday morning
Geoffrey West was on the street, seeking his favorite newspaper.
He found it, found the Agony Column--and nothing else. Tuesday
morning again he rose early, still hopeful. Then and there hope
died. The lady at the Carlton deigned no reply.

Well, he had lost, he told himself. He had staked all on this
one bold throw; no use. Probably if she thought of him at all it
was to label him a cheap joker, a mountebank of the halfpenny
press. Richly he deserved her scorn.

On Wednesday he slept late. He was in no haste to look into the
Daily Mail; his disappointments of the previous days had been too
keen. At last, while he was shaving, he summoned Walters, the
caretaker of the building, and sent him out to procure a certain
morning paper.

Walters came back bearing rich treasure, for in the Agony Column
of that day West, his face white with lather, read joyously:

STRAWBERRY MAN: Only the grapefruit lady's kind heart and her great
fondness for mystery and romance move her to answer. The
strawberry-mad one may write one letter a day for seven days--to
prove that he is an interesting person, worth knowing. Then--we
shall see. Address: M. A. L., care Sadie Haight, Carlton Hotel.

All day West walked on air, but with the evening came the problem