ver a couple of times. Then, again, her engagement with St. Vincent
crept into his thought, and he charmed the Virgin by asking her to
sing. But she was coy, and only after Bishop had rendered the several
score stanzas of "Flying Cloud" did she comply. Her voice, in a weakly
way, probably registered an octave and a half; below that point it
underwent strange metamorphoses, while on the upper levels it was
devious and rickety. Nevertheless she sang "Take Back Your Gold" with
touching effect, which brought a fiery moisture into the eyes of the
Fraction King, who listened greedily, for the time being experiencing
unwonted ethical yearnings.

The applause was generous, followed immediately by Bishop, who toasted
the singer as the "Enchantress of Bow Bells," to the reverberating
"bottoms up!" of Jake Cornell.

Two hours later, Frona Welse rapped. It was a sharp, insistent rap,
penetrating the din within and bringing Corliss to the door.

She gave a glad little cry when she saw who it was. "Oh; it is you,
Vance! I didn't know you lived here."

He shook hands and blocked the doorway with his body. Behind him the
Virgin was laughing and Jake Cornell roaring:

"Oh, cable this message along the track;
The Prod's out West, but he's coming back;
Put plenty of veal for one on the rack,
Trolla lala, la la la, la la!"

"What is it?" Vance questioned. "Anything up?"

"I think you might ask me in." There was a hint of reproach in Frona's
voice, and of haste. "I blundered through the ice, and my feet are
freezing."

"O Gawd!" in the exuberant tones of the Virgin, came whirling over
Vance's shoulder, and the voices of Blanche and Bishop joining in a
laugh against Cornell, and that worthy's vociferous protestations. It
seemed to him that all the blood of his body had rushed into his face.
"But you can't come in, Frona. Don't you hear them?"

"But I must," she insisted. "My feet are freezing."

With a gesture of resignation he stepped aside and closed the door
after her. Coming suddenly in from the darkness, she hesitated a
moment, but in that moment recovered her sight and took in the scene.
The air was thick with tobacco smoke, and the odor of it, in the close
room, was sickening to one fresh from the pure outside. On the table a
column of steam was ascending from the big mixing-pan. The Virgin,
fleeing before Cornell, was defending herself with a long mustard
spoon. Evading him and watching h