Oh, murder! "Well, name your poison! Isn't there something, anything we can do for you ?" Haviland repeated.
"There is, decidedly." Gray smiled his warm appreciation of the tender.
"If it is not too great a drain upon the Dietz millions, you may keep a supply of cut flowers in my room.

I'm passionately fond of roses, and I should like to have my vases filled every morning." "You shall dwell in a perfumed bridal bower." Gray paused at the door to light one of those sixty-cent cigars and between puffs observed: "Please assure Mr.Dietz that--his obligation is squared and that I am--deeply touched.

I shall revel in the scent of those flowers." That evening, when Calvin Gray, formally and faultlessly attired, strolled into the Ajax dining room he was conscious of attracting no little attention.

For one thing, few of the other guests were in evening dress, and also that article in the _Post_, which he had read with a curiously detached amusement, had been of a nature to excite general notice.

The interview had jarred upon him in only one respect--_viz_., in describing him as a "typical soldier of fortune." No doubt the reporter had intended that phrase in the kindest spirit; nevertheless, it implied a certain recklessness and instability of character that did not completely harmonize with Gray's inchoate, undeveloped banking projects.