y regarded him coldly, while the girl clung to him closer.

"You let go that girl!" cried the noisy man.

Amory tried to make his eyes threatening.

"You go to hell!" he directed finally, and turned his attention to the
girl.

"Love first sight," he suggested.

"I love you," she breathed and nestled close to him. She _did_ have
beautiful eyes.

Some one leaned over and spoke in Amory's ear.

"That's just Margaret Diamond. She's drunk and this fellow here brought
her. Better let her go."

"Let him take care of her, then!" shouted Amory furiously. "I'm no W. Y.
C. A. worker, am I?--am I?"

"Let her go!"

"It's _her_ hanging on, damn it! Let her hang!"

The crowd around the table thickened. For an instant a brawl threatened,
but a sleek waiter bent back Margaret Diamond's fingers until she
released her hold on Amory, whereupon she slapped the waiter furiously
in the face and flung her arms about her raging original escort.

"Oh, Lord!" cried Amory.

"Let's go!"

"Come on, the taxis are getting scarce!"

"Check, waiter."

"C'mon, Amory. Your romance is over."

Amory laughed.

"You don't know how true you spoke. No idea. 'At's the whole trouble."

*****

AMORY ON THE LABOR QUESTION

Two mornings later he knocked at the president's door at Bascome and
Barlow's advertising agency.

"Come in!"

Amory entered unsteadily.

"'Morning, Mr. Barlow."

Mr. Barlow brought his glasses to the inspection and set his mouth
slightly ajar that he might better listen.

"Well, Mr. Blaine. We haven't seen you for several days."

"No," said Amory. "I'm quitting."

"Well--well--this is--"

"I don't like it here."

"I'm sorry. I thought our relations had been quite--ah--pleasant. You
seemed to be a hard worker--a little inclined perhaps to write fancy
copy--"

"I just got tired of it," interrupted Amory rudely. "It didn't matter a
damn to me whether Harebell's flour was any better than any one else's.
In fact, I never ate any of it. So I got tired of telling people about
it--oh, I know I've been drinking--"

Mr. Barlow's face steeled by several ingots of expression.

"You asked for a position--"

Amory waved him to silence.

"And I think I was rottenly underpaid. Thirty-five dollars a week--less
than a good carpenter."

"You had just started. You'd never worked before," said Mr. Barlow
coolly.

"But it took about ten thousand dollars to educate me where I could
write your darned stuff