es are beauties."

"I--I'll be dropping in soon again, Miss Sprunt. I think I'll take your
advice and be more regular about my manicures."

"Oh," she said, in some confusion, "I--I didn't mean that. You can care
for them in between times yourself."

At the Sixth Avenue exit he paused.

"Good night," he said, slowly.

"Good night," she responded, her lips warm and parted like a child's.

When the click of his footsteps had echoed down the marble corridor Miss
Ethyl crossed the room and indulged in several jerky sniffs at the
little floral offering. "Well, whatta you know about that little tin
Willie, bringin' a goil violets in May? You better stick to the
million-dollar kid, Gert; he's the strawberries-in-December brand."

For once Miss Gertrude did not retort; her eyes, full of dreams, were
gazing past the doorway which had so recently framed the modest figure
of Mr. Chase.

Promptly at six Mr. Barker appeared for his appointment. He bespoke the
last word and epilogue in sartorial perfection--his suit was a trifle
too brown and a trifle too creased and his carnation a bit too large,
but he radiated good cheer and perfume.

Miss Ethyl nudged Miss Gertrude excitedly.

"Pipe the rig, Gert; he makes you look like a hole in a doughnut."

He entered, suave as oil.

"Well, sis, ready?"

"Oh, Mr. Barker, you're all dressed up--and look at me. I--"

"Ah-h-h, how do you like it? Some class, eh? Guess your Uncle Fuller
ain't some hit--brand-new gear from tonneau to rear wheels."

Mr. Barker circumvolved on one heel, holding his coat-tails apart.

"I blew me right fer this outfit; but it's woith the money, sis."

"If I had known I'd have gone home and dressed up, too."

"Well, whatta you know about that?" exclaimed Mr. Barker, observing her
up and down. "That there shroud you're wearing is as classy as anything
I've seen up in the lobby or any place else, and I've been all round the
woild some, too. I know the real thing from the seconds every time."

Miss Gertrude worked into her gloves.

"I guess it is more becoming for a girl like me to go plainly."

"Believe me, kiddo"--Mr. Barker placed his hand blinker-fashion against
the side of his mouth, and his lips took on an oblique slant--"take it
from me, kiddo, when it comes to real feet-on-the-fender comfort, a
nineteen-fifty suit with a extry pair of pants thrown in can make this
rig feel like a busted tire."

"Well, Mr. Barker, I'm ready if you are."

H