The last no was as a trumpet note--a defiant negative hurled at the Force of the Universe. And Charles-Norton began to race around the fountain, striking with his right fist his left hand, muttering unintelligible and tremendous protests. You see, his wings had grown altogether too long. He could feel their ligatures reaching like roots to his soul. When, at the end of the third lap, he came to his bench again, his mind was made up. Only details remained to be determined.
And when he rose for the last time from the bench, these were fixed. His appearance was one of great calmness tense above a suppressed ebullition. Before him his programme stretched like a broad, clear road. He followed it.
Firstly he went to the bank and drew out three hundred dollars in cash.
With the roll in his breast-pocket, he walked up Broadway till he came to a Cook's Tourist agency; entering, after a short discussion aided by the perusal of a map, he exchanged part of his roll for a long, green, accordeon-pleated ticket.
Then he went out and bought himself a tawny, creaky suit-case, and then, successively, going from store to store:
A pair of much abbreviated swimming trunks.
All of which he placed in his new suit-case.
Then after a moment of frowning consideration, he purchased two thick woolen double-blankets which he rolled up and strapped.
After which he boldly strode into the Waldorf-Astoria.
Such affluence, by this time, did his person emanate that four brass-buttoned boys simultaneously sprang to their feet and came running up to him. He waved them aside with a commanding gesture and went into the writing-room.
He opened his check-book. "3," he wrote firmly in the right hand corner. "Pay to the order of," he read; "Dolly Margaret Sims," he wrote, "Four hundred and eighty and no-hundredths dollars."
He signed the check, tore it off, and let the now looted check-book drop negligently to the floor. He placed the folded check in an envelope, wrote a little letter and placed it by the check, sealed the envelope, and wrote upon it,
MRS. CHARLES NORTON SIMS 267 West 129th St. New York
and rang for a messenger boy, to whom he gave the letter.
Then calling for a taxi-cab, he whizzed away to the Grand Central station.