himself to his father's wine-glass and drained it. "You can settle
now, dad--one thousand iron men. I owe it to Demorest."

"What do you mean?"

"Debt of honor. I heard she was due here with some kind of an
electric thrill, so I offered her my share of the sweepstakes to
further disgrace herself by dancing with me. She's an expensive
doll; she needs that thousand--mortgage on the old family opera-
house, no shoes for little sister, and mother selling papers to
square the landlord." He caught Lorelei's eye and stared boldly.
"Hello! I believe in fairies, too, dad. Introduce me to the
Princess."

Merkle volunteered this service, and Bob promptly hitched his
chair closer. Lorelei saw that he was very drunk, and marveled at
his control during the recent exhibition.

"Tell me more about the 'Parti-color Petticoat' and 'Dentol
Chewing-Gum,' Miss Knight. Your face is a household word in every
street-car," he began.

She replied promptly, quoting haphazard from the various
advertisements in which she figured. "It never shrinks; it holds
its shape; it must be seen to be appreciated; is cool, refreshing,
and prevents decay."

"How did you meet that French dancer?" Hannibal Wharton queried,
sourly, of his son.