On the morning of Monday, April 23rd (the date seemed unimportant at the time), I took the early morning train into New York. Spring had done its fell work and the club car was full of middle-aged business-men, with dark circles under their eyes, prepared to fight at the drop of a hat anyone who said they weren't as young as they felt. With Jimmie's perfume still in my nostrils, I hadn't the heart to deride them, so I did the next best thing and talked them into a poker-game.
By the time we pulled into Grand Central I was eighteen dollars and seventy cents ahead, thanks to a full-house just before we reached 125th Street.
Instead of joining my fellow-brokers in their Gadarene rush for the downtown subway express, I strolled north along Park Avenue to the Pond Club.
At the Pond Club I found Tammy engaged, as ever, in polishing the glasses behind his gleaming little bar.
"My! Mr. Tompkins," he exclaimed. "You look as though you'd just made a million dollars," he told me. "The usual, sir?"
"It was nearly three millions, Tammy, and accept no substitutes. What I need is concentrated protein. How about a couple of dozen Cotuits and some black coffee?"
The steward raised his eyebrows knowingly.
"I'll mix you one of my Second Day Specials, sir," he said. "Funny thing about that drink. One night, young Mr. Ferguson--he's a new member, sir--was feeling merry and felt a sudden sense of compassion for the statue of Civic Virtue in front of the City Hall. Of course, I've never seen it but they tell me that it's a very fine work of art, by a person named Mac Monnies, I believe. He wasn't a member of the club, of course, but that's what I understand the name to be. So Mr. Ferguson would have nothing for it but to take one of my Second Day Specials down to the Civic Virtue and give him a drink. It seemed that Mr. Ferguson felt quite sorry for the statue down there in front of LaGuardia without any company. So he took a cab downtown and poured the drink down the mouth of the statue for a joke, like. But here's the odd thing, sir. They had to throw a canvas over the statue and send for a man with a hacksaw before the Mayor decided it was proper to expose it to the citizens again."
"Then bring me a double Second Day Special, without cold chisels or hacksaws, if you please," I ordered.