There, sonny-behold the city of your dreams! Good old New York, as
per schedule. . . . Gee! Ain't she great? The slim, self-possessed
youth of twenty hardly seemed to expect an answer; but the man
addressed in this pert manner, though the senior of the pair by six
years, felt that the emotion throbbing in his heart must be allowed
to bubble forth lest he became hysterical. "Old New York, do you
call it?" he asked quietly. The tense restraint in his voice would
perhaps have betrayed his mood to a more delicately tuned ear than
his companion's, but young Howard Devar, heir of the Devar
millions-son of "Vancouver" Devar, the Devar who fed multitudes on
canned salmon, and was suspected of having cornered wheat at least
once, thus woefully misapplying the parable of the loaves and
fishes-had the wit to appreciate the significance of the question,
deaf as he was to its note of longing, of adulation, of vibrant
sentiment.
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