as these are finished I must go home. It
is after eleven o'clock.--Pour the ale, Grief."

At a later time, Purple Sanderson entered from the world. He hung up his
hat and cast a look of proper financial dissatisfaction at the remnants
of the feast. "Who has been----"

"Before you breathe, Purple, you graceless scum, let me tell you that we
will stand no reference to the two violets here," said Pennoyer.

"What the----"

"Oh, that's all right, Purple," said Grief, "but you were going to say
something about the two violets, right then. Weren't you, now, you old
bat?"

Sanderson grinned expectantly. "What's the row?" said he.

"No row at all," they told him. "Just an agreement to keep you from
chattering obstinately about the two violets."

"What two violets?"

"Have a rarebit, Purple," advised Wrinkles, "and never mind those
maniacs."

"Well, what is this business about two violets?"

"Oh, it's just some dream. They gibber at anything."

"I think I know," said Florinda, nodding. "It is something that concerns
Billie Hawker."

Grief and Pennoyer scoffed, and Wrinkles said: "You know nothing about
it, Splutter. It doesn't concern Billie Hawker at all."

"Well, then, what is he looking sideways for?" cried Florinda.

Wrinkles reached for his guitar, and played a serenade, "The silver moon
is shining----"

"Dry up!" said Pennoyer.

Then Florinda cried again, "What does he look sideways for?"

Pennoyer and Grief giggled at the imperturbable Hawker, who destroyed
rarebit in silence.

"It's you, is it, Billie?" said Sanderson. "You are in this two-violet
business?"

"I don't know what they're talking about," replied Hawker.

"Don't you, honestly?" asked Florinda.

"Well, only a little."

"There!" said Florinda, nodding again. "I knew he was in it."

"He isn't in it at all," said Pennoyer and Grief.

Later, when the cigarettes had become exhausted, Hawker volunteered to
go after a further supply, and as he arose, a question seemed to come to
the edge of Florinda's lips and pend there. The moment that the door was
closed upon him she demanded, "What is that about the two violets?"

"Nothing at all," answered Pennoyer, apparently much aggrieved. He sat
back with an air of being a fortress of reticence.

"Oh, go on--tell me! Penny, I think you are very mean.--Grief, you tell
me!"

"The silver moon is shining;
Oh, come, my love, to me!
My heart----"

"Be still, Wrinkles, will you?--What