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[56]!

      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.