"
I felt a slow flush creeping into my face.
"I thought . . ." I stammered; "I was hoping . . . that is . . . Oh,
well, of course an absolutely original conception in fiction is
impossible in these days."
"Metropolitan types," continued Van Sweller, kindly, "do not offer a
hold for much originality. I've sauntered through every story in pretty
much the same way. Now and then the women writers have made me cut some
rather strange capers, for a gentleman; but the men generally pass me
along from one to another without much change. But never yet, in any
story, have I failed to dine at ---- [7]."
[Footnote 7: See advertising column, "Where to Dine Well,"
in the daily newspapers.]
"You will fail this time," I said, emphatically.
"Perhaps so," admitted Van Sweller, looking out of the window into the
street below, "but if so it will be for the first time. The authors all
send me there. I fancy that many of them would have liked to accompany
me, but for the little matter of the expense."
"I say I will be touting for no restaurant," I repeated, loudly.
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