Evening star., 1936-06-07

dozen girls pirouettlng off the floor
Oh, you prefer the hat-check girl!
There, my lad. you display discernment and a
want of caution. Torellis girl! That's the tip
off. A guy to keep on the sunny side of, Torelli
Owns the joint, and gambling place uptown.
Seldom loses bet, they say. Judicious pick
ing and the ice-cold calm of the born gambler.
Yes, peach, that hat-check girl. About the
time Torell was peddling papers in Brooklyn,
her father rode regularly to the Kentucky
Derby in his tally-ho coach, buges ALLOWING;
gent of the old school, gray topper and Ascot
tie.
See that broad-shouldered youngster with
the tousled red hair! Always seated at that
table near the entrance. The only guy present
not in evening clothes. Never seen to smoke or
drink.
A squint at that book he's reading might
interest you. It's written in old Spanish, and
tells of a mysterious people of ancient America,
the Mayas. He's an archaeologst if you know
what that means. Youngest member of the
Turner De Lacy Expedition that pckaxed to
light some buried city in Palestine two years
ago. Now you'd wonder what draws him
nightly into this place
The hat-check girl could tell you that. His
family and hers were neighbors. That's talking
of the past. AS boy and girl playing together,
tire future, for Philip McLennon and Louise
Blake, was not one to dismay. Now both are
forced to earn their bread and butter the girls
hat-check employment is the more remunera-
tive, since the pursuit of archaeology, seldom
bringing in fortune, needs fortune for its
indulgence. -.
The sloe-eyed, dark-complexioned night-club
proprietor eased himself into the vacant chair
and showed his teeth in grin.
Hi, young feller-doing crossword puzzles?"
Something like that, Mr.. Torelli."
Torelli, in his thirties, mixture of Samaritan
and Tartar, whose quiet persuasive force drew
women to him and repelled men, offered cigar.
"Never smoke them," the youth said. "A
pipe, now and then. Don't care to smoke it
here, though"
The respect paid to his high-to establish
ment, Leon Torelli accepted with an impassive
countenance. "Stoke up, he said Lets go to
my office. Want word with you"
McLennon followed him across the floor and
diOIlS SoiAiuOA. AOACAh CitSiCA q ouliip-
tuously- appointed room, the walls covered with
signed photographs. There he suavely motioned
McLennon to red-leather armchair.
This exploration trip you're hankering to
make. Care to talk about it2' he invited.
McLennon laughed in surprise, put match
to his tobacco-flled briar. II didn't know you
were interested in archaeology, Mr.. Toreli."
I'm not" 1t was characteristic of Leon
Torelli to speak in low, fiat tone. "Your friend
Louise was telling me about it."
Another surprise! Miss Blake2'
That's right-Louise."
Indebted to him for the privilege of sitting
at table night after night, taking up valuable
space and contributing nothing for it, McLen-
non sensed that this was leading up to polite
kick-out.
"Just what would you like to know, sir?"
whether it's worthwhile putting my dough
into"
McLennon surrendered all pleasure in his
pipe and stared at the man with avid eyes. Of
all places to seek backing for an archaeological
expedition, here, surely, was the oldest place
to find it!
'I'm no scholar Torelli said. I'm gam
bier But know the guy who found King Tuts
tomb cleaned up plenty. Give me the gist of
this idea of yours, leaving out the big words. :"
McLennon explained that he had run across
/ I. 4