Now and then in the hotels Corny had managed conversation and temporary acquaintance with substantial, if not distinguished, guests.With many of these he had exchanged cards, and the ones he received he carefully treasured for his own use later.Leaving the hotel lobbies, Corny would stroll leisurely about, lingering at the theatre entrance, dropping into the fashionable restaurants as if seeking some friend.He rarely patronized any of these places; he was no bee come to suck honey, but a butterfly flashing his wings among the flowers whose calyces held no sweets for him.His wages were not large enough to furnish him with more than the outside garb of the gentleman.To have been one of the beings he so cunningly imitated, Corny Brannigan would have given his right hand.
One night Corny had an adventure.After absorbing the delights of an hour's lounging in the principal hotels along Broadway, he passed up into the stronghold of Thespis.Cab drivers hailed him as a likely fare, to his prideful content.Languishing eyes were turned upon him as a hopeful source of lobsters and the delectable, ascendant globules of effervescence.These overtures and unconscious compliments Corny swallowed as manna, and hoped Bill, the off horse, would be less lame in the left forefoot in the morning.