Word among the Barmaids of the Ice
Palace in London, otherwise known as the Savoy.

Occasionally he would return to his provincial Home to raise the Rents
on the Shop-Keepers and give out an Interview criticising the New
School of Politicians for trifling with Vested Interests and seeking to
disturb Existing Conditions.

Any time his Rake-Off was reduced from $10 a Minute to $9.98 he would
let out a Howl like a Prairie Wolf and call upon Mortimer, his Man,
for Sympathy.

After Twenty Years of getting up at Twilight to throw aside the Pyjamas
and take a Tub and ease himself into the Costume made famous by John
Drew, the Routine of buying Golden Pheasants and Special Cuvee Vintages
for almost-Ladies, preserved by Benzoate of Soda and other Chemical
Mysteries, began to lose its Sharp Zest.

In other Words, he was All In.

He was Track-Sore and Blase and full of Ongway. He had played the
whole String and found there was nothing to it and now he was ready
to retire to a Monastery and wear a Gunny-Sack Smoking Jacket and live
on Spinach.

The Vanities of the Night-World had got on his Nerves at last. Instead
of sitting 8 Feet away from an Imported Orchestra at 2 A. M. and
taunting his poor old Alimentary System with Sea Food, he began to
prefer to take a 10-Grain Sleeping Powder and fall back in the Alfalfa.

About Noon the next Day he would come up for Air, and in order to kill
the rest of the Day he would have to hunt up a Game of Auction Bridge
with three or four other gouty old Mavericks.

When the Carbons begin to burn low in the sputtering Arc Lights along
the Boulevard of Pleasure and the Night Wind cuts like a Chisel and the
Reveler finds his bright crimson Brannigan slowly dissolving into a
Bust Head, there is but one thing for a Wise Ike to do and that is to
Chop on the Festivities and beat it to a Rest Cure.

That is just what the well-fixed Bachelor decided to do.

He resolved to Marry and get away from the Bright Lights and lie down
somewhere in a quilted Dressing Gown and a pair of Soft Slippers and
devote the remainder of his Life to a grand clean-up of the Works of
Arnold Bennett.

He selected a well-seasoned Senorita who was still young enough to show
to your Men Friends but old enough to cut out all the prevalent
Mushgush about the Irish Drama and Norwegian Art and Buddhism and the
true Symbolism of Russian Dancing.

Best of all, she had a spotless Reputation, holding herself down to one
Br