This outlook was the most valuable asset the Magnolia possessed.
If the parasol was held flat, with its back to the club-house, and
no glimpse of the pretty face possible, it was, of course,
unquestionable evidence to the member looking over the top of his
cocktail that neither the hour or the place was propitious. If,
however, it swayed to the right or left, or better still, was
folded tight, then it was equally conclusive that not only was the
coast clear, but that any number of things might happen, either at
Tiffany's, or the Academy, or wherever else one of those
altogether accidental--"Why-who-would-have-thought-of-seeing-you-
here" kind of meetings take place--meetings so delightful in
themselves because so unexpected.
These outlooks, too, were useful in solving many of the social
problems that afflicted the young men about town; the identity,
for instance, of the occupant of the hansom who had just driven
past, heavily veiled, together with her destination and her reason
for being out at all; why the four-in-hand went up empty and came
back with a pretty woman beside the "Tooler," and then turned up a
side street toward the Park, instead of taking the Avenue into its
confidence; what the young wife of the old doctor meant when she
waved her hand to the occupant of a third-story window, and who
lived there, and why--None of their business, of course--never
could be--but each and every escapade, incident and adventure
being so much thrice-blessed manna to souls stranded in the desert
waste of club conversation.
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