Armitage had come thirteen thousand miles across deserts, through jungles, over snow-clad peaks as fast as camels and trains and ships could carry him, driven by an all-compelling desire Sixty-odd days ago he had been in the amber mines in the Hukainng Valley, where Upper Burma ends and western China begins; and here he was, riding up old Broadway a Broadway that twinkled and glittered and glared with the same old colored clock lights. Men were queer animals. He had sworn never to set foot inside of New York again.