One Wonderful Night

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.