It gave
no inkling of its unique exclusiveness, and equally unique
expensiveness. As for Cressey, that simple, direct, and confident soul
took not the smallest account of Banneker's standardized clothing, which
made him almost as conspicuous in that environment as if he had entered
clad in a wooden packing-case. Cressey's creed in such matters was
complete; any friend of his was good enough for any environment to which
he might introduce him, and any other friend who took exceptions might
go farther!
"Banzai!" said the cheerful host over his cocktail. "Welcome to our
city. Hope you like it."
"I do," said Banneker, lifting his glass in response.
"Where are you living?"
"Grove Street."
Cressey knit his brows. "Where's that? Harlem?"
"No. Over west of Sixth Avenue."
"Queer kind of place to live, ain't it? There's a corkin' little suite
vacant over at the Regalton. Cheap at the money. Oh!-er-I-er-maybe--"
"Yes; that's it," smiled Banneker. "The treasury isn't up to bachelor
suites, yet awhile. I've only just got a job."
"What is it?"
"Newspaper work. The Morning Ledger."
"Reporting?" A dubious expression clouded the candid cheerfulness of the
other's face.
"Yes. What's the matter with that?"
"Oh; I dunno.
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