“I never have seen my ideal,” retorted Gatewood sulkily, “but I know she exists—­somewhere between heaven and Hoboken.”

“You’re sure, are you?”

“Oh, I’m sure.  And, rich or poor, good or bad, she was fashioned for me alone.  That’s a theory of mine; you needn’t accept it; in fact, it’s none of your business, Tommy.”

“All the same,” insisted Kerns, “did you ever consider that if your ideal does exist somewhere, it is morally up to you to find her?”

“Haven’t I inspected every debutante for ten years?  You don’t expect me to advertise for an ideal, do you—­object, matrimony?”

Kerns regarded him intently.  “Now, I’m going to make a vivid suggestion, Jack.  In fact, that’s why I subjected myself to the ordeal of breakfasting with you.  It’s none of my business, as you so kindly put it, but—­shall I suggest something?”

“Go ahead,” replied Gatewood, tranquilly lighting a cigarette.  “I know what you’ll say.”

“No, you don’t.  Firstly, you are having such a good time in this world that you don’t really enjoy yourself—­isn’t that so?”

“I—­well I—­well, let it go at that.”

“Secondly, with all your crimes and felonies, you have one decent trait left:  you really would like to fall in love.  And I suspect you’d even marry.”

“There are grounds,” said Gatewood guardedly, “for your suspicions. Et apres?”

“Good.  Then there’s a way!  I know—­”

“Oh, don’t tell me you ‘know a girl,’ or anything like that!” began Gatewood sullenly.  “I’ve heard that before, and I won’t meet her.”

“I don’t want you to; I don’t know anybody.  All I desire to say is this:  I do know a way.  The other day I noticed a sign on Fifth Avenue: 

KEEN & CO. 
TRACERS OF LOST PERSONS

It was a most extraordinary sign; and having a little unemployed imagination I began to speculate on how Keen & Co. might operate, and I wondered a little, too, that, the conditions of life in this city could enable a firm to make a living by devoting itself exclusively to the business of hunting up missing people.”

Kerns paused, partly to light a cigarette, partly for diplomatic reasons.

“What has all this to do with me?” inquired Gatewood curiously; and diplomacy scored one.

“Why not try Keen & Co.?”

“Try them?  Why?  I haven’t lost anybody, have I?”

“You haven’t, precisely lost anybody, but the fact remains that you can’t find somebody,” returned Kerns coolly.  “Why not employ Keen & Co. to look for her?”

“Look for whom, in Heaven’s name?”

“Your ideal.”

“Look for—­for my ideal!  Kerns, you’re crazy.  How the mischief can anybody hunt for somebody who doesn’t exist?”

“You say that she does exist.”

“But I can’t prove it, man.”

“You don’t have to; it’s up to Keen & Co. to prove it.  That’s why you employ them.”