CHAPTER XVI

“The Blue Barber” § I New York suffers from insomnia. At an hour when even the gayer capitals of Europe would have begun to blink themselves into sleep, a certain street between Broadway and Sixth Avenue still displayed every evidence of liveliness. A car endowed with that odd note of distinction which belongs to the Rolls turned into this street and pulled up before the door of a small and unpretentious restaurant. The establishment was apparently closed since no lights were visib…