der one of the sconces to read from his book of essays. I tried to
fancy Althea and the Promoter politely listening--or appearing to
listen. This really drew too heavily upon my imagination, and I gave it
up.

At a late hour we escaped. I learned afterward that before we left the
Promoter took our men aside and offered them one more thing to drink.
This really seemed superfluous, and--judging by the straightforward gait
of our escorts, to say nothing of my knowledge of their habits--there is
no doubt that it was.

Outside the hotel the Philosopher, looking away from it and from
the other great buildings which surrounded us on every side, sent
his gaze upward to the starry winter's sky. He drew in deep breaths
of the frosty air.

"Getting the Amazon out of your blood?" inquired the Skeptic. "Amazon's
a mighty good name for it. It thinks it's sophisticated and refined--but
it isn't. It's a great, blowsy, milkmaid of a hotel, with all her best
clothes on, perpetually going to a fair."

"I'm not so much re-filling my insulted lungs," said the Philosopher,
"as drawing breaths of relief that I got away without buying a block of
stock in something, or putting my name down to be one of a company for
the development of something else."

"Oh, we were safe enough," the Skeptic declared. "This was a private
dinner with ladies present; the Promoter gave us only a delicate sample
of what he could do. Wait till he gets you at luncheon with him in the
grill-room, all by yourself--then you can find out what he is when he's
after game. Unless you're tied to the mast, so to speak, with your ears
stopped with wax, you'll land on the shore of the enchanted country he
pictures for you. He's deadly, I assure you. That's why he can afford to
live at the Amazon."

"I wonder how Althea likes it?" speculated Hepatica.

"Likes it down to the ground--and up to the roof," asserted the Skeptic.
"That's plain enough. It saves housekeeping--and picking up her room,"
he added softly to Hepatica--but I heard him. Hepatica did not reply.

"Let's not stop at this station," proposed the Skeptic as we walked on,
"but keep on up to the next. A fast walk will do us all good after that
feast of porpoises."

"I suppose they call that living," said the Philosopher, as we turned
aside into quieter streets.

"Of course they do, and so does everybody else at those tables
to-night--with four exceptions."

"Oh, come," demurred the Philosopher, "possibly