OUTSIDE a gilt-lettered door on the seventeenth floor of a New York office building, a tall young man in a fur-lined coat stood shivering.
Why did he shiver in that coat? He shivered because he was fussed, poor chap. Because he was rattled, from the soles of his custom-made boots to the apex of his Piccadilly hat. A painful, palpitating spectacle, he stood.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the door, the business of the American branch of that famous marine insurance firm, Lloyds, of London— usually termed in magazine articles ‘The Greatest Gambling Institution in the World’—went on oblivious to the shiverer who approached.