heons on Saturdays, like most of the
bunch; he'd scratched his entry at the college club; and he was soakin'
away his little surplus as fast as he got his fingers on it.

Course, that programme meant sendin' regrets to most of the invites he
got, and spendin' his evenin's where it didn't cost much to get in or
out. One frivolous way he had of killin' time was by teachin' 'rithmetic
to a class of new landed Zinskis at a settlement house over on the East
Side.

"Ah, what's the use?" I used to tell him. "They'd learn to do compound
interest on their fingers in a month, anyway, and the first thing you
know you'll be payin' rent to some of 'em."

But he was pretty level headed about most things, I will say that for
Mallory, specially the way he sized up this girl business. Seems at last
she got the idea he was grouchy at her about something; and when he
didn't deny, or come to the front with any reason--why, she just quit
sendin' the billy ducks.

"So you're never going to see her any more, eh?" says I.

"Well," says he, "I supposed until within an hour or so ago that I never
should. And then----Well, she's here, Torchy; came yesterday, and I
presume she expects to see me to-night."

"That's encouragin', anyway," says I.

But Mallory don't seem so much cheered up. It turns out that Sis is
spendin' a few days with friends here, waitin' for the rest of the
fam'ly to come on and sail for Europe. They're givin' a farewell dinner
dance for her, and Skid is on the list.

The trouble is he can't make up his mind whether to go or stay away. One
minute he's dead sure he won't, and the next minute he admits he don't
see what harm there would be in takin' one last look.

"But, then," says Mallory, "what good would that do?"

"I know," says I. "There's a young lady friend of mine on the other side
too. Say, Mallory, I guess we belong in the lobster class."

And when we splits up on the corner Skid has decided against the party
proposition, and goes off towards his boardin' house with his chin down
on his collar and his heels draggin'.

So I wa'n't prepared for the joyous smile and the frock coat regalia
that Mallory wears when he blows into the office about ten-forty-five
next forenoon. He's sportin' a spray of lilies of the valley in his
lapel, and swingin' his silver topped stick, and by the look on his
face you'd think he was hearin' the birdies sing in the treetops.

"Tra-la-la, tra-la-lee!" says I, throwin' open the