And--that's all," he ended abruptly as he reached the door.
"As cool as a cucumber!" murmured Reynolds, as he began to clear the table.

"I shouldn't wonder but what he stuck the notice in hisself." Merrivale, still with the morning paper in his hand, strolled easily down to his club and collected a few letters.

He then sauntered into the smoking-room, where a knot of men, busily conversing in undertones, gave him awkward greeting.
Merrivale lighted a cigar and sat down deliberately to study his paper.
Nearly an hour later he rose, nodded to several members, who glanced up at him expectantly, and serenely took his departure.
A general buzz of discussion followed.
"He doesn't look exactly heart-broken," one man observed.
"Hearts grow tough in the West," remarked another.

"He has probably done the breaking-off himself.

Jack Merrivale, late of California, isn't the sort of chap to stand much trifling." A young man with quizzical eyes broke in with a laugh.
"Ask Mr.Cosmo Fletcher! He is really well up on that subject." "Also Mr.Richard Culver, apparently," returned the first speaker.
Culver grinned and bowed.
"Certainly, sir," he said.