He began
to wonder at his own presumption in receiving one of Los Angeles'
leading citizens as he had received Cliff Lowell. It was with a
conscious effort that he maintained his attitude of sturdy independence.
Bland, it transpired, had tired of waiting for Johnny. He was nowhere
to be seen, and with a parting salute from the white-gloved doorman
they set out briskly for the regular place Cliff Lowell had chosen to
honor with his patronage. The regular place was such a very regular
place that it had disdained blatant electric signs and portents of its
presence. Cliff led Johnny up a flight of narrow stairs and turned
sharply to the left through a subdued kind of vestibule that gave no
inkling of what lay beyond, except that a chipper young hat boy took
their headgear and the cane and gloves before they went on.
Johnny Jewel, desert product that he was, nearly stampeded before Cliff
had safely seated him, with the help of the head waiter, who spoke with
a full French flavor. The table chosen for them stood before a long
divan whereon they sat side by side and faced the room filled to
overflowing with small groups of diners who seemed very much at home
there and very much pleased with life and with one another.
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