che, Mr. "Marky" Zinsheimer gave every outward evidence of being
an important personage. His clothes were, perhaps, a trifle extreme; his
tie perhaps a trifle too pronounced in color; his watch-chain a trifle
too heavy; and his solitaire diamond stud was undoubtedly too large; yet
for all that, if you were in the least bit worldly, "Marky" Zinsheimer
was not a person to be lightly ignored.

[Illustration: "MARKY" ZINSHEIMER (JOSEPH CAWTHORN)]

Mr. Zinsheimer's natural good humor was disturbed even before he made
his entrance into the sun parlor. In the first place, he had gone seven
days without a drink, a feat simple enough for a camel, but slightly
difficult for a Zinsheimer. In the second place, he had devised a scheme
for entertainment during his enforced vacation at the Springs, said
entertainment comprising a visit and the companionship at golf of one
Miss Flossie Forsythe, of the "Follies" company, who had hurriedly left
the company in Chicago to accept Mr. Zinsheimer's telegraphed
invitation. But, while Mr. Zinsheimer was genuinely fond of Flossie, and
had even once spoken vaguely of matrimony, he had found that a week of
her society at breakfast, dinner and supper, to say nothing of golf, was
a trifle wearing.

The third reason for Mr. Zinsheimer's perturbation was the discovery, as
he entered the sun parlor, that all the desirable chairs were occupied.

Two of the easy wicker rockers were drawn up by a small table, where a
game of checkers was in progress between two fat ladies. Ranged at
intervals along the glass-enclosed front were four other equally stout
ladies, lolling back in equally comfortable chairs, some reading, some
dozing. Mr. Zinsheimer, who had anticipated a pleasant morning reading
the New York papers, was obviously annoyed. Fortunately, he knew the
proper method of attacking and routing the enemy.

One of the stout ladies, puzzling over her next move, was almost choked
when a whiff of smoke was blown across the checker-board. A moment
later, a somnolent and rotund lady in one of the rockers started up
furiously as another whiff drifted in her direction. A page-boy entering
at this particular moment was hurriedly summoned by the indignant
ladies, and Mr. Zinsheimer, gazing vacantly into space, felt a slight
touch on the arm.

"Beg pardon, sir," said the boy, "smoking is not permitted here."

Mr. Zinsheimer frowned.

"I did not ask permission," he replied.

Two of the stout ladies gath