g the matter of soap..."

"Use mine. We Americans are famous for our hospitality."

"Thanks awfully."

"The towel is on your right."

"Thanks awfully."

"And I've a clothes brush in my bag."

"Thanks awfully."

Splashing followed like a sea-lion taking a dip. "Now, then," said
Sally, "why were you hiding from Mrs. Meecher?"

A careworn, almost hunted look came into Ginger's face. "I say, you
know, that woman is rather by way of being one of the lads, what! Scares
me! Word was brought that she was on the prowl, so it seemed to me a
judicious move to take cover till she sort of blew over. If she'd found
me, she'd have made me take that dog of hers for a walk."

"Toto?"

"Toto. You know," said Ginger, with a strong sense of injury, "no dog's
got a right to be a dog like that. I don't suppose there's anyone
keener on dogs than I am, but a thing like a woolly rat." He shuddered
slightly. "Well, one hates to be seen about with it in the public
streets."

"Why couldn't you have refused in a firm but gentlemanly manner to take
Toto out?"

"Ah! There you rather touch the spot. You see, the fact of the matter
is, I'm a bit behind with the rent, and that makes it rather hard to
take what you might call a firm stand."

"But how can you be behind with the rent? I only left here the Saturday
before last and you weren't in the place then. You can't have been here
more than a week."

"I've been here just a week. That's the week I'm behind with."

"But why? You were a millionaire when I left you at Roville."

"Well, the fact of the matter is, I went back to the tables that night
and lost a goodish bit of what I'd won. And, somehow or another, when I
got to America, the stuff seemed to slip away."

"What made you come to America at all?" said Sally, asking the question
which, she felt, any sensible person would have asked at the opening of
the conversation.

One of his familiar blushes raced over Ginger's face. "Oh, I thought I
would. Land of opportunity, you know."

"Have you managed to find any of the opportunities yet?"

"Well, I have got a job of sorts, I'm a waiter at a rummy little place
on Second Avenue. The salary isn't big, but I'd have wangled enough out
of it to pay last week's rent, only they docked me a goodish bit for
breaking plates and what not. The fact is, I'm making rather a hash of
it."

"Oh, Ginger! You oughtn't to be a waiter!"

"That's what the boss seems to think."

"I mean, you oug