cruellest, most blood-thirsty conflict of civilized history--the War of
the Roses--the Massacre of the Innocents! In Bobbie's ears the
jangling tambourine, the weird splutterings of the banjos, the twanging
of the guitars, the shrill music of the violins and clarionet, the
monotonous rag-time pom-pom of the piano accompanist, the clash and
bang of cymbal and base-drum, the coarse minor cadences of the negro
singers--all so essential to cabaret dancing of this class--sounded
like the war pibroch of a Satanic clan of reincarnate fiends.

The waiter was serving some savory viands, for such establishments
cater cleverly to the beast of the dining room as well as of the
boudoir.

But Burke was in no mood to eat or drink. His soul was sickened, but
his mind was working with lightning acumen.

"Bring me my check now as I may have to leave before you come around
again," he directed his waiter.

"Yes, sir, certainly," responded the Tenderloin Dionysius, not without
a shade of regret in his cackling voice. Early eaters and short
stayers reduced the percentage on tips, while moderate orders of drinks
meant immoderate thrift--to the waiter.

The check was forthcoming at once. Burke quietly corrected the
addition of the items to the apparent astonishment of the waiter. He
produced the exact change, while a thunder-storm seemed imminent on the
face of his servitor. Burke, however, drew forth a dollar bill from
his pocket, and placed it with the other change, smiling significantly.

"Oh, sir, thank you"--began the waiter, surprised into the strictly
unprofessional weakness of an appreciation.

Bobbie, with a left-ward twitch of his head, and a slight quiver of the
lid of his left eye, brought an attentive ear close to his mouth.

"My boy, I want you to go outside and have the taxicab starter reserve
a machine for 'Mr. Green.' Tell him to have it run forward and clear
of the awning in front of the restaurant--slip him this other dollar,
now, and impress on him that I want that car about twenty-five feet to
the right of the door as you go out."

The waiter nodded, and leered slyly.

"All right, sir--I get ye, Mr. Green. It's a quick getaway, is that
it?"

"Exactly," answered Bobbie, "and I want the chauffeur to have all his
juice on--the engine cranked and ready for another Vanderbilt Cup
Race." Bobbie gave the waiter one of his best smiles--behind that
smile was a manful look, a kindliness of character and a gre