nd clear skin, and steady eye
and glossy hair. She was looking past him in that baffling, maddening
way that angry women have. Some of Henri's poise seemed to desert him in
that moment. He appeared a shade less debonair as he received the
precious bottle from the wine man's hands. He made for Miss Fink's desk
and stood watching her while she checked his order. At the door he
turned and looked over his shoulder at Miss Sweeney.

"Some time," he said, deliberately, "when there's no ladies around, I'll
tell you what I think she looks like."

And the little glow of color in Miss Gussic Fink's smooth cheek became a
crimson flood that swept from brow to throat.

"Oh, well," snickered Miss Sweeney, to hide her own discomfiture, "this
is little Heiny's first New Year's Eve in the dining-room. Honest, I
b'lieve he's shocked. He don't realize that celebratin' New Year's Eve
is like eatin' oranges. You got to let go your dignity t' really enjoy
'em."

Three times more did Henri enter and demand a bottle of the famous
vintage, and each time he seemed a shade less buoyant. His elation
diminished as his tips grew greater until, as he drew up at the bar at
six o'clock, he seemed wrapped in impenetrable gloom.

"Them hawgs sousin' yet?" shrilled Miss Sweeney. She and Miss Fink had
climbed down from their high stools, and were preparing to leave. Henri
nodded, drearily, and disappeared in the direction of the Pink Fountain
Room.

Miss Fink walked back to her own desk in the corner near the dining-room
door. She took her hat off the hook, and stood regarding it,
thoughtfully. Then, with a little air of decision, she turned and walked
swiftly down the passageway that separated dining-room from kitchen.
Tillie, the scrub-woman, was down on her hands and knees in one corner of
the passage. She was one of a small army of cleaners that had begun the
work of clearing away the debris of the long night's revel. Miss Fink
lifted her neat skirts high as she tip-toed through the little soapy pool
that followed in the wake of Tillie, the scrub-woman. She opened the
swinging doors a cautious little crack and peered in. What she saw was
not pretty. If the words sordid and bacchanalian had been part of Miss
Fink's vocabulary they would have risen to her lips then. The crowd had
gone. The great room contained not more than half a dozen people.
Confetti littered the floor. Here and there a napkin, crushed and
bedraggled into a