miles before
breakfast, once, too. It was right here in the city."

"What?" gasped Sid, scarcely believing his ears.

"Yes," assented John cheerfully. "It was in the afternoon before, but
that didn't make any difference. It was before breakfast, wastn't it?"

Louise giggled. Sid kicked against the wicker seat cushion in front of
him and was silent. John rubbed a clear spot on the frost-etched car
window and peered into the outer darkness.

"Next block's ours," he grinned, still elated at the success of his
thrust. "Come on, Louise."

They scrambled wildly for the door. Sid was the first in the street and
helped the lady down from the high car-step, while John drew the tickets
from his coat pocket and led the way to the brilliantly lighted theater
lobby. Louise's eyes glistened with excitement as the trio stopped to
look at the posters beside the doorway.

"Martha, the Milliner's Girl," Sid read slowly from the huge letters at
the top of the bulletin board.

"Peach of a show," John commented, as they walked past the line of
people waiting their turn at the box office. "Six folks killed, and
shooting and everything. I asked the man when I bought the seats."

A uniformed usher led them impressively to their places and presented
them with programs. John stooped over his fiancee and helped her off
with her coat as he leered at Sid. That gentleman leaned easily back in
the upholstered theater chair.

"Nice seats," he remarked with a touch of condescension. "A little near
the stage [the words had been Mrs. DuPree's, once upon a time], but
they'll do."

"I like 'em," John snapped angrily. Louise acquiesced. Sid scowled and
fell back upon the wild and woolly West as a means of maintaining the
conversational upper hand.

"Once I went hunting, last summer"--he began. John glanced at his watch.
Ten minutes before the performance would begin; ten long, dragging
minutes of Sid's talk about a place of which he knew nothing. Why had he
brought his voluble rival along?--"hunting for bear," continued the
narrator. "Lots of fun, Louise. One of the cowboys took me with him 'way
up a mountain. We went into a big, dark forest with palms--"

"Palms don't grow out West," John interrupted savagely.

"Yes, they do."

"Geogerfy says they don't."

"This was a part the geogerfies don't know anything about," serenely.
"Ever been out there?"

"No," reluctantly.

"Then keep quiet. _I have._ Well, there were the palms and--"

W