Professional Documents
Culture Documents
John Sharp
Microsoft Visual C# Step by Step, Ninth Edition
Published with the authorization of Microsoft Corporation by: Pearson
Education, Inc.
Copyright © 2018 by Pearson Education, Inc.
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ISBN-13: 978-1-5093-0776-0
ISBN-10: 1-5093-0776-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018944197
1 18
Trademarks
Microsoft and the trademarks listed at http://www.microsoft.com on the
“Trademarks” webpage are trademarks of the Microsoft group of companies. All
other marks are property of their respective owners.
Chapter 1 Welcome to C#
Beginning programming with the Visual Studio 2017 environment
Writing your first program
Using namespaces
Creating a graphical application
Examining the Universal Windows Platform app
Adding code to the graphical application
Summary
Quick reference
The dinner was a “howling success” from the varying points of view
of each sly schemer and his would-be dupe.
Hathorn smiled knowingly when Vreeland carelessly remarked that
he was not familiar with the dry details of Montana investments.
“I leave all that drudgery to my lawyers,” he airily remarked, with all
the nerve of a Napoleon Ives.
“I must try and work his account in our direction,” mused the ardent
devotee of business, while Vreeland gracefully bowed his thanks,
when Hathorn rejoined:
“Mrs. Willoughby? Yes. A wonderful woman. Prettiest place at
Irvington. She entertains a great deal. I’ll ask her if I may present
you. She’s probably the heaviest operator on the Street of all our rich
women.”
It was long after midnight when the two chums separated.
Their strange life orbits had intersected for the first time since they
sang “Lauriger Horatius” together in an honest, youthful chorus.
Mr. Harold Vreeland now felt intuitively that his “bluff” was a good
one. He had always battled skillfully enough in the preliminary
skirmishes of his conflict with the world, but he felt that the scene of
action had been poorly chosen.
Hard-hearted and pitiless, he cursed the memory of his corrupt and
inefficient father, as he directed his lonely steps to the “Waldorf,” to
register his name as a permanent guest.
His heart beat no throb warmer in acknowledgment of the seven
thousand dollars’ windfall which was to bring his star up from an
obscure western declination to a brilliant eastern right ascension.
He delivered his luggage checks to the night clerk of New York’s
greatest hotel, and proudly inscribed himself as a member of the
“swell mob” filling that painted Vanity Fair.
A strange fire burned within his veins. He recalled Fred Hathorn’s
final semi-confidential remark: “Do you know anything of handling
stocks? If you do, we could put you up to a good thing or two on the
Street now.”
It was no lie. The glib story which had fallen easily from his lips of the
six-months’ exciting experience in which he acted as dummy cashier
for a San Francisco kite-flying “Big Board” firm of brokers during a
sporadic revival of the “Comstock craze.”
He had learned then how to “wipe out a margin” as deftly as the
veriest scamp who ever signed a fraudulent “statement” for reckless
man or sly, insinuating woman.
He had artfully led Fred Hathorn on to describe the unique position
of Mrs. Elaine Willoughby among the bravest of the swim. The New
Yorker was over-eager in his fencing, and so Vreeland easily
gathered him in.
Lighting a cigar, he strolled along the silent Fifth Avenue, arranging
with quick decision his preliminary maneuvers.
“This lovely woman who has built up Hathorn must surely have a
vacancy in her heart at present, vice Hathorn, ‘transferred for
promotion’ to head the VanSittart millions.”
“It’s a good play to come in between them now. He will never
suspect my game, but I’ll block his little scheme some way, unless
he carries me along upward. He evidently wishes to be rid of the old
rapprochement now, and yet not lose her stock business. By Jove! I
would like to cut in there.”
He strolled along toward the “Circassia,” that pink pearl of all
sumptuous apartment palaces, and eagerly reconnoitered the
superb citadel of Elaine Willoughby’s social fortifications.
“Lakemere, a dream of beauty,” he murmured. “I’ll soon get into that
same gilded circle, and work the whole set for all they are worth.”
He plumed himself upon the approving glance of the beautiful brown
eyes of the mistress of Lakemere as she had swept by on Fred
Hathorn’s arm.
“She accepted my bow as an evident homage to her own queenly
self,” mused Vreeland, who was no dabster at reading the ways of
the mutable woman heart.
“Yes, she is my first play. I must burn my ships and now go boldly in
for ‘High Life.’ I’ll risk it. Carlisle said: ‘There are twenty millions of
people in Britain—mostly fools.’ Among the gilded fools of Gotham,
some one easy mark must be waiting for me on general principles.
I’ll take the chances and play the queen for my whole stack of chips.”
He wandered homeward, after narrowly inspecting the “Circassia,”
and unconsciously attracting the attention of Daly, the Roundsman,
the bravest and cheeriest member of the Tenderloin police.
Lights still gleamed from a splendid second-floor apartment above
him, where a lovely woman, royal in her autumnal beauty, gazed out
at the night.
Elaine Willoughby sighed as she turned away. “If I had told Hathorn
all, he might have made me his wife. Alida—” Her face hardened as
she choked down a sob. “My God! if I only knew! I must have
Endicott renew his search.”
In some strange way, the handsome Western stranger returned to
haunt her disturbed mind. “He looks like a man brave, gallant, and
tender,” she sighed, as she forgot Hathorn, who, in his bachelor
apartments was now musing upon the ways and means to hold
Elaine Willoughby’s heart after he had wedded Miss Millions.
CHAPTER II.