andal.

But say, when Kathyrn came back from a vine-clad Institute overlooking
the historic Hudson and devoted to the embossing and polishing of the
Female Progeny of those who have got away with it, she began working
the Snuffer on all the Would-Bes back in the Mill Town. When she got
through extinguishing, the little Group that remained looked like the
Remnant of the Old Guard at Waterloo.

Father had to stick around because occasionally the eight thousand Good
Tempered Boys on the Pay Roll would begin to burn with Wood Alcohol and
the Wrongs of Labor and pull off a few Murders, merely to hasten the
Triumph of Justice.

By the way, Kathryn had a Mother who used to hide in a room upstairs
and timidly inspect her new Silk Dresses.

Kathryn applied the Acid Test to her People and decided that they never
could Belong.

She swung on the General Manager for a Letter of Credit big enough to
set Ireland free and went traipsing off to the Old World under the
chaperonage of a New York Lady who had seen Better Days.

Now it will be admitted that William J. Burns is Some Sleuth, but when
it comes to apprehending and running to Earth a prattling American
Ingenue with a few Millions stuffed in her Reticule, the Boy with the
mildewed Title who sits on the Boulevard all day and dallies with the
green and pink Bottled Goods has got it all over Burns like a Striped
Awning.

All the starving members of the Up-Against-It Association were waiting
at the Dock to cop the prospective Meal Ticket. Not one of them had
ever Shaved or Worked and each wore his Handkerchief inside his Cuff
and had Yellow Gloves stitched down the Back, and was fully entitled
to sit in an Electric Chair and have 80,000 Volts distributed through
the Steel Ribs of his Corset.

As soon as Kathryn began to meet the Roqueforts and Camemberts she
discovered that they had Lovely Eyes and certainly knew how to treat
a Lady.

Kathryn had been brought up on Philadelphia Literature, and even during
her most ambitious Social Flights she had encountered the Type of Man
who remains on the opposite side of the Room having trouble with his
White Gloves.

She never had been against those Willing Performers from Gascony who
wore Red Ribbons and Medals and who rushed over to kiss the Hand and
then look deep into her Eyes and throb like a Motor Boat.

This class of Work simply shot her Pulse up to 130 and made her think
that she was Cleopatra, floating in the Royal Bar