iately arrested old Dad Robins, the night watchman, who was taking
a sly peak off his beat at the festivities. Henderson forced the
delighted old man through a waltz, with himself as a very languishing
partner.

The hobo, dancing with one of the flower girls, said: "Jane, I've been
trying to get a chance to warn you not to say anything to Mrs. Penelope
about that deal with Freet. I was a fool to let you see that letter
tonight. Now I'm getting into national politics, you've got to learn to
keep your mouth shut."

"How'd you know me?" whispered the flower girl.

"You don't dance as good as Mrs. Pen," he replied.

Here the monk stole the flower girl and danced off with her, firmly.

"Remember the dance at Coney Island and how mean you were to me?" he
whispered.

"And how bossy and high-handed you were about the bathing? How did you
know me?"

The monk hugged the flower girl to him. "You haven't lived in my heart
for all these years without my getting to _know_ you!"

And the flower girl sighed ecstatically.

The tall domino, dancing with the other flower girl, felt the strains of
Espanita creeping up his backbone, and he said,

"There is something in the air out here that is almost intoxicating!"

The flower girl answered: "It'll do more than that for you, if you'll
give it a chance. It will make you see things."

"I don't understand you," replied the domino in a dignified way.

"I mean you'd see if you stayed here long enough that what Jim Manning
needs is help, not investigating."

"How do you know I'm not Manning?"

The flower girl sniffed. "I'm an old woman so I can tell you that no
woman would ever mistake him for anyone else after she'd once danced
with him."

"He is making a most regrettable record here," very stiffly from the
domino.

"Shucks! Why don't you fire Arthur Freet? I warn you right now that he's
trying to get his hooks into this dam."

"The Service might well dispense with both of them, I believe," said the
domino.

The flower girl sniffed again. "You politicians--" she began, when she
was interrupted by a call at the door.

The music stopped. A white-faced boy had mounted a chair and was
shouting hysterically: "Where's the Boss? The hombres have shot my
father!"

"It's Dad Robins' boy! Why, the old man was here a bit ago!" cried
someone.

The monk pulled off his mask and flung his robe in the corner. "Oscar,"
he said to the hobo, who had unmasked, "see to Mrs. Penelope."