t that mortified. After me remembering to be a lady,
and then before a mob to kick over the traces and crab the act. Believe
me, every time I see an advertisement for that brand of wine a blush
mantles my cheeks. Sure, I can blush. See. And for tears, it's just like
turning on the faucet in the bath tub. All the young creatures in our
set have to be there with the blush of modesty and the tear tank, for in
the heat and gayety of a wine party, when some one springs a travelling
man's story if we couldn't flash a flush we would be doped out as being
brazen hussies, and tears are always handy. Either for the police, the
landlord or an ardent suitor. The modern girl has to be equipped for any
emergency like a hook and ladder truck. But here I am giving away all
our girlish secrets.

"Take it from me I'll never again gallop around the juniper bowl. I
wouldn't be a lush worker like that Alla McCune for another $10,000
legacy. She's just started the habit lately. She thinks it's stylish.
Sure, every time she goes out with a crowd that drink anything stronger
than beer she thinks she is in society. Every time she gets a snoot full
she falls in love. Fact. My, such a scene as she caused in the hotel the
other evening. She doped it out this way: She was all alone, a stormy
night, a bottle of Scotch and a syphon. Why not light up? Talk about
your Great White Way, why, she had it looking like a dark alley in
Darkest Brooklyn. Along about 6 o'clock in the evening a gentleman
called to see her. As soon as he entered the portal Alla knew that she
had at last met her soul twin.

"She was hanging on to the table at the time and when she let go to
embrace him, instead of being clasped to his yearning bosom, as she had
planned, her knees gave away and she skated on her profile across the
divan. This cluck, being of a timid nature, instead of running for the
ammonia, slammed the door and sprinted for the elevator. Alla, as soon
as the door closed, realized that she had been jilted, and resolving not
to be canned without a struggle, she threw on her pony coat over her
kimono, and pinning her hat roguishly over one ear, she fled the snare
and ran down eight flights of steps into the street, with two coon bell
boys after her. She turned into Broadway, going like Hose No. 7, with
her kimono streaming to the breeze, and ran all the way down to Rector's
and into the door before she was stopped by the head waiter. The two
bell boys caught up and