The past the wild fight when he led his soldiers up San Juan Hill; the first years of his marriage when he worked hard for young Hildegarde whom he loved; the days before that when he sat smoking with his grandfather in the dark old Button house all these memories faded like dreams from his mind as if they had never been. He did not remember.
He did not remember clearly whether the milk was warm or cool at his last feeding or how the days passed there was only his crib and Nana's familiar presence. And then he remembered nothing. When he was hungry he cried that was all. Through the days and nights he breathed and there were soft sounds over him that he hardly heard. He felt only faint smells, and light and darkness.
Then it was all dark, and his white crib and the dim faces that moved above him, and the warm sweet smell of the milk faded away from his mind.
May Day
I
There were many adventures that happened in the great city during this time, and several of them or perhaps one are presented here.
At nine o'clock on the morning of the first of May, 1919, a young man spoke to the room clerk at the Biltmore
Hotel, asking if Mr. Philip Dean had checked in there, and if so, could he be connected with Mr. Dean's rooms. The young man was small, slender, and handsome; his eyes were shaped with unusually long eyelashes above and with the blue circles of ill health below, which gave his face an unnatural color as if he had a constant fever.
Mr. Dean was staying there. After a second the connection was made; a sleepy voice said «hello» from somewhere above.
«Mr. Dean? It's Gordon, Phil. It's Gordon Sterrett. I'm downstairs. I heard you were in New York and I had an idea you could be here».
The sleepy voice became enthusiastic. Well, how was Gordy, old boy! Well, he certainly was surprised and excited! Would Gordy come right up, for Heaven's sake !
A few minutes later Philip Dean, dressed in blue silk pajamas, opened his door and the two young men greeted each other with a bit embarrassed enthusiasm. They were both about twenty-four, Yale graduates of the year before the war; but there the resemblance stopped. Dean was blond, healthy, and strong under his thin pajamas. Everything about him showed physical comfort. He smiled frequently, showing large and prominent teeth.
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