d narrow, an' say, I wisht I could skin up a
tree the way you can. An' there was that time--"

"All right, all right, Jimmie. I can tell him the rest sometime. I don't
really hate to talk about myself--that's on the level. And say, listen
here, Jimmie, you're my favourite sweetheart, ain't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," assented Jimmie, warmly. "All right. Beat it up and get me
about two quarts of that hot coffee and about four ham sandwiches, two
for you and two for me. That's a good kid."

"Sure!" exclaimed Jimmie, and was off.

Merton Gill had been dazed by these revelations, by the swift and utter
destruction of his loftiest ideal. He hardly cared to know, now, if
Beulah Baxter were married. It was the Montague girl who had most
thrilled him for two years. Yet, almost as if from habit, he heard
himself asking, "Is--do you happen to know if Beulah Baxter is married?"

"Baxter married? Sure! I should think you'd know it from the way that
Sig Rosenblatt bawls everybody out."

"Who is he?"

"Who is he? Why, he's her husband, of course--he's Mr. Beulah Baxter."

"That little director up on the platform that yells so?" This
unspeakable person to be actually the husband of the wonder-woman, the
man he had supposed she must find intolerable even as a director. It was
unthinkable, more horrible, somehow, than her employment of a double. In
time he might have forgiven that--but this!

"Sure, that's her honest-to-God husband. And he's the best one out of
three that I know she's had. Sig's a good scout even if he don't look
like Buffalo Bill. In fact, he's all right in spite of his rough ways.
He'd go farther for you than most of the men on this lot. If I wanted
a favour I'd go to Sig before a lot of Christians I happen to know. And
he's a bully director if he is noisy. Baxter's crazy about him, too.
Don't make any mistake there."

"I won't," he answered, not knowing what he said.

She shot him a new look. "Say, Kid, as long as we're talking, you seem
kind of up against it. Where's your overcoat a night like this, and when
did you last--"

"Miss Montague! Miss Montague!" The director was calling.

"Excuse me," she said. "I got to go entertain the white folks again."
She tucked up the folds of her blanket and sped around the pool to
disappear in the mazes of the scaffolding. He remained a moment staring
dully into the now quiet water. Then he walked swiftly away.

Beulah Baxter, his wonder-woman, had deceived her public in