s she's about to take another bite of something.

"Tell me," says she, "is that supposed to be music?"

"Not at all," says I. "That's jazz. We've got so we can't eat without
it, you know."

Also I suspect the Tortonis' dancin' act jarred her a bit. You've seen
'em do the shimmy-plus?

"Well!" says she, drawin' in a long breath and lookin' the other way.
"So that is an example of modern dancing, is it?"

"It's the kind of stunt the tired business man has to have before he
gets bright in the eyes again," says I. "But wait until we get to the
Follies if you want to see him really begin to live."

We had to kill a couple of hours between times so we took in the last
half of the latest bedroom farce and I think that got a rise or two out
of Bonnie. I gathered from her remarks that Lillian Russell or Edna
Wallace Hopper never went quite that far in her day.

"It's pajamas or nothing now," says I.

"And occasionally," she adds, "I suppose it is--Well, I trust not, at
least."

After the Follies she hadn't a word to say. Only, as I landed her back
at her hotel, along about 2:30 a.m., she slumps into a big chair in the
Egyptian room and lets her chin sag.

"It's no use, Torchy," says she. "I--I couldn't."

"Eh?" says I.

"End my days to jazz time," says she. "No. I shall go back to my quiet
hills and my calm-eyed Holsteins. And I shall go entirely contented. I
can't tell you either, how thankful I am that it was you who showed me
my mistake instead of my dear old friend. You've been so good about it,
too."

"Me?" says I. "Why, I've had a big night. Honest."

"Bless you!" says she, pattin' my hand. "And just one thing more,
Torchy. When you tell Mr. Ellins that I've been here, and gone, couldn't
you somehow forget to say just how I looked? You see, if he remembers me
as I was when that photo was taken--Well, where's the harm?"

"Trust me," says I. "And I won't be strainin' my conscience any at
that."

But I didn't need to juggle even a word. When Old Hickory hears how I've
subbed in for him with Bonnie he just pulls out the picture, gazes at it
fond for a minute or so, and then remarks:

"Ah, you lucky young rascal!" Then he picks up a note from his desk.
"Oh, by the way," he goes on, "here's a little remembrance she sent you
in my care."

Little! Say, what do you guess? Oh, only an order for a 1920 model
roadster with white wire wheels to be delivered to me when I calls for
it! She's merely tipped me an au