rs, but
I guess she had got so interested that she forgot and stepped out into
the open. She was a native, all right; but say, she wasn't any back-row
dago girl. She was in the prima donna class, she was. Ever see Melba
made up for the "Carmen" act? Well, this one was about half Melba's
size, but for shape and color she had her stung to a whisper; and as for
wardrobe, she had it all on. Gold hoops in her ears, tinkly things on
her jacket, and a rainbow dress with the reds and greens leading the
field. Eyes were her strong point, though--regular forty candle powers.
She had the current all switched on, too, and a plumb centre range on
the Boss.

Now he wasn't exactly in reception costume, the Boss wasn't. When he'd
knocked off his runnin' shoes it left him in a pair of salmon trunks
that cleared the knees considerable. He'd made a fine ad. for a physical
culture school, just as he stood; for he's well muscled, and his
underpinning mates up, and he don't interfere when he walks. The cold
water had brought out the baby pink all over him, and he looked like one
of these circus riders does on the four sheet posters. He had the
lime-light, too, for a streak of sun comin' down between the towers just
hit him. I see the girl wasn't missin' any of these points. It wasn't
any snap-shot she was takin', it was a time exposure.

"Who's your lady friend in the wings?" says I to the Boss.

"Where?" says he.

I jerks my thumb at her. For a minute there wasn't a word said. The Boss
wasn't able, I guess, and the girl never moved an eyelash. Then he yells
for the bath towel and makes a break inside, me after him. When we'd
rubbed down and got into our Broadway togs, we chases back and organizes
ourselves into a board of inquiry. Who was she--regular boarder, or just
transient? Where did she come from? And why? Likewise how, trolley,
subway, or balloon?

But I'm blessed if that whole gang didn't go as mum as a lot of railroad
hands after a smash-up. Why, they hadn't seen no such lady, cross their
hearts they hadn't. Maybe it was old Rosa, yes? And Rosa a sylph that
would fit tight in a pork barrel! A goat, then?

"Let's give 'em the third degree," says I.

So we done it, locked 'em all in a room and put 'em on the carpet one by
one. They was scared stiff, too stiff to talk. All but old Vincenzo, the
white-haired old pirate the count had left in charge. He was a lovely
peagreen under the gills, but he made a stagger at putting up a