k fifteen juleps to satisfy
them. I tell him not to push himself too far, but he's still pretty new
at the job. He likes to go over the top every day."

"Your face is very familiar," said Theodolinda. "Where have we seen you
before?"

"I wondered if you'd recognize me," said the bartender. "I've shaved
off my mustache. I'm Jerry Purplevein. When I was turned down in that
election I thought this would be the next best thing. As a matter of
fact, it's better. I don't really care for the stuff; I just like to
see it around. Miss Absinthe felt the same way. She's head stewardess
up to the Hostess House."

"It seems to me I used to see you somewhere in New York," said
Quimbleton.

"I was head bar at the Hotel Pennsylvania," said Jerry. "We had the
finest bar in the world, had only been running a couple of months when
prohibition come in. They turned it into a soda fountain. Ah, that was
a tragedy! But this is a grand job. Government service, you see: sure
pay, tony surroundings, and what you might call steady custom. Mr.
Bleak is as nice a gentleman to mix 'em for as I ever see."

"But what is this for?" asked Theodolinda, pointing to a beautiful
marble cash register. "Surely Mr. Bleak doesn't have to BUY his drinks?"

"No, ma'am," said Jerry, "but he likes to have 'em rung up same as
customary. He says it makes it seem more natural. Here he is now!"

Jerry flew to attention behind the three-foot bar, and they turned to
see their friend enter through the bronze swinging doors.

"Well, well!" cried Bleak. "This is a delightful surprise!"

He was dressed in a lounging suit of fine texture, and while he seemed
a little thinner and paler, and his eyes a little weary, he was in
excellent spirits.

"Come," he said, "you're just in time for a bite of lunch. Jerry,
what's on the counter to-day?"

Jerry bustled proudly over to the free-lunch counter, whipped off the
steam-covers, and disclosed a fragrant joint of corned beef nestling
among cabbages and boiled potatoes. With the delight of the true artist
he seized a long narrow carving knife, gave it a few passes along a
steel, and sliced off generous portions of the beef onto plates bearing
the P. S. monogram. This they supplemented with other selections from
the liberally supplied free-lunch counter. Soft, crumbling orange
cheese, pickles, smoked sardines, chopped liver, olives, pretzels--all
the now-forgotten appetizers were laid out on broad silver platters.

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