look like the devil, you know."

"By the Lord Harry, Elias," cried Graydon, "you look like the devil
now."

"I've got these carpet slippers on because my shoes hurt my feet,"
explained Droom sourly. "My collar rubbed my neck, so I took it
off. Otherwise, I'm just as I was when I got in at Sherry's. Funny
what a difference a little thing like a collar makes, isn't it?"

"I should say so. I never gave it a thought until now. But, Elias,
I want to ask a great favour of you. You can--"

"My boy, if your father wouldn't tell you who her parents are,
don't expect me to do so. He knows; I only suspect."

"You must be a mind reader," gasped Graydon.

"It isn't hard to read your mind these days. What do you hear from
her?" Graydon went back to the subject after a few moments. "I am
morally certain that I know who her father and mother were, but
it won't do any good to tell her. It didn't make me any better to
learn who my father was. It made me wiser, that's all. How's your
father?"

After this night Graydon saw the old man often. They dined together
occasionally in the small cafes on the West Side. Droom could not,
for some reason known only to himself, be induced to go to Sherry's
again.