From that elevation the bird's-eye view was wonderful. The
broad avenues below, teeming with life, the surging, confused mass of
pedestrians and vehicles, the close network of side-streets filled
with busy traffic, the silvery Hudson with sailing vessels and
steamships departing for every port in the world--all this was a scene
of which the eye never tired. The young man gazed at it for a moment,
and then, retracing his steps, threw himself into an arm-chair.
Lighting a cigar, he said:
"These are bully rooms, all right. The view is splendid. But I don't
see why you need to come to a hotel when you have your apartment on
Riverside--and such an apartment!--a veritable palace, filled with
everything one's artistic taste cares for and furnished and decorated
to suit yourself."
"That's just why," answered his companion dryly.
The railroad man had left the breakfast table, and, seated at a desk
on the other side of the room, was busy glancing over a huge batch of
letters which had come with the morning's mail.
"What do you mean by 'that's just why'?" demanded Hadley, puzzled.
Stafford looked up and smiled.
"Why--it's just as you said. My own place is so attractive that I
can't do any work there. The paintings, statuary, bric-a-brac and
what-not, distract my attention too much. If I have an important
letter to draft, I can't think of what I want to say because my eyes
are fascinated by the Peachblow vases on top of the bookcase.
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