oat.

A voice, affectedly mincing: "As I live--handsome Harold Armytage!"

Another voice, hoarse with rage: "Curse ye, devil that ye are, with yer
oily tongue and city ways! where's me daughter Letty, me little lass,
that ye took up to the big city and threatened to make a lady of?"

A voice, hushed and slow: "They--say--the--child--is--in--London."

The newcomer, flicking the ash from his cigarette, glowered at the last
speaker and hissed: "As for you, Black Bart, alias Jasper Vinton,
remember that one word from me would set all Scotland Yard on your
trail!"

A new voice from the table: "Stand back, Hector Walsingham! I would
rather be the poor working girl I am than the gilded toy your wealth
would make me--and besides, you wear made ties! I'll have to speak to
the stage manager about that," continued the speaker in less dramatic
tones. "Look, it's one of those horrible made things that fasten at the
back of his neck with a harness buckle--see his hand go up to it!"

The newcomer emitted a mocking laugh, but judiciously sought a seat in
the next room.

"Say--new idea for a melodrama," came another voice from the long table.
"The old thing with an Ibsen twist. Stern father ready to drive erring
daughter from his door in a snowstorm, but _it won't snow_! Of course he
can't send her off in pleasant weather. It clouds up every few days, and
the old man hopefully gets his speech ready--'Curse ye, ye are no longer
a daughter of mine!' but the sun comes out again. Girl gets nervous.
Young squire gets nervous, too, though he's married the girl in secret.
He begs the old man to put her out and have it over with, even if the
weather is pleasant. Old man won't hear of such a thing. Got to have a
howling snowstorm. His mind fails; he sits in the chimney corner
driveling about the horrible winters they used to have when you could
curse a daughter out almost any day in the week. Everybody disgusted at
the way things are dragging. Young people quarrel. Divorce! Young squire
sails for Labrador to try it again, where you can count on the winters.
Girl watches ship out of sight, and _it snows_! Snows hard. But too
late--ah, God, too late! She rushes back home to find the old man
delirious with joy. He starts in to do his speech at last, but she
slowly strangles him with her muscular young hands. Rather good
curtain, that--yes?" He looked around the table appealingly, but the
others had turned from him to another newcomer, a youn