dles.

"Hello, old pop Grimsby!"

"You're in the dark of the moon, Grimmie! I couldn't make you out but
for those horn rimmed head lights."

"Welcome to the joy-parlor, old scout."

The greetings of the juvenile buzzards varied only in phraseology: their
portent was identical: "Open wine."

"Poor Mr Grimsby is so ill this afternoon, but sit down and have
something with us," volunteered Helene tremulously.

The bees gathered about the table to feast on the vinous honey, while
Shirley, mumbling a few words, maintained his partial obscurity, with
one hand to his forehead.

"Fine boysh, m'deah. Boysh, meet little Bonbon--my protashsh!"

Little Bonbon was a pronounced attraction. Her vivacious charm drew the
eyes away from Shirley, who studied the expressions of the weasel faces
about him. The girl's heart sickened under the brutal frankness of a
dozen calculating eyes, yet she valiantly maintained her part,
while Shirley marveled at her clever simulation of silly, giggly,
semi-intoxication. One youth deserted them to disappear through
the distant dining room entrance. The comments about the table were
interesting to the keen-eared masquerader.

"Old Grimsby's picked a live one, this time!"--"What show is she
with?"--"Won't Pinkie be sore?" The criminologist was not left to wonder
as to the identity of "Pinkie," for an older man, walking behind a
red-headed girl in a luridly modern gown, approached the table with the
absent guest. The men were talking earnestly, the girl staring angrily
at Shirley's, beautiful companion.

"Hey, here come's Reggie! Sit down, Reg. Pop has passed away, but his
credit is still strong."

"There's Pinkie--come, my dear, and join the Ladies' Aid Society and
have a lemonade," jested another youth, making a place for the girl in
the aisle.

Pinkie's dark-haired companion sank somewhat unsteadily into a chair
next the girl. He frowned and rubbed his forehead, as though to clear
his mind for needed concentration. He shook Shirley's arm, and spoke
sharply.

"Look up; Grimmie. I never saw you feel your wine so early in the
afternoon. It was a lucky day for me on Wall Street, so I celebrated
myself. You are here earlier than usual. Everybody have some champagne
with me."

As he beckoned to the waiter, the red-haired girl bestowed a murderous
look upon Helene, who was sniffing some flowers which she had drawn from
the vase on the table.

"Who's that Jane?" she demanded, her voice-shaki