A Face at Sherry's

"Don't mention my name an thou lovest me!" said
Laurance Donovan, and he drew me aside, ignored my
hand and otherwise threw into our meeting a casual
quality that was somewhat amazing in view of the fact
that we had met last at Cairo.

"Allah il Allah!"

It was undoubtedly Larry. I felt the heat of the
desert and heard the camel-drivers cursing and our
Sudanese guides plotting mischief under a window far
away.

"Well!" we both exclaimed interrogatively.

He rocked gently back and forth, with his hands in
his pockets, on the tile floor of the banking-house. I
had seen him stand thus once on a time when we had
eaten nothing in four days-it was in Abyssinia, and
our guides had lost us in the worst possible place-with
the same untroubled look in his eyes.

"Please don't appear surprised, or scared or anything,
Jack," he said, with his delicious intonation. "I
saw a fellow looking for me an hour or so ago. He's
been at it for several months; hence my presence on
these shores of the brave and the free. He's probably
still looking, as he's a persistent devil. I'm here, as
we may say, quite incog. Staying at an East-side lodging-house,
where I shan't invite you to call on me.
But I must see you."

"Dine with me to-night, at Sherry's-"

"Too big, too many people-"

"Therein lies security, if you're in trouble. I'm about
to go into exile, and I want to eat one more civilized
dinner before I go."

"Perhaps it's just as well. Where are you off for,-
not Africa again?"