the army of Intellectuality did the main Spiel, with
Loretta as principal Rooter.

The Speaker was there with the Pep and with the Vocabulary. Otherwise
she was a Naughty-Naughty. The costume was a plain Burial Shroud, the
only Ornament being a 4-carat Wen just above the Neckband.

At 4 P.M., after the Male Sex had been ground to a Hamburger, our
little Playmate escaped to a Picture Show, but not until she had duly
fortified herself with the nourishing Marshmallow.

There was nothing on the Cards that night except a Subscription Dance,
which got under way at 10 P.M. and never subsided until the cold
Daylight began to spill in at the Windows.

Loretta did 27 out of a possible 29. Percentage .931--six better than
Bogey and 400 points ahead of Ty Cobb.

Nevertheless and notwithstanding, don't imagine that she failed to
come up for Air on Friday Morning.

Life is real, Life is earnest, and she had a Gown to be shortened up
and re-surveyed around the Horse Shoe Curve, just as soon as she could
leave the Gloves to be cleaned.

Happening into Automobile Row, she permitted a blond salesman with a
Norfolk Jacket to demonstrate the new type of Electric Runabout.

One of the most inexpensive pursuits of the well-dressed Minority is
to glide over the Asphalt in a Demonstration car and pretend to be
undecided.

She permitted the man to set her down at a Book Shop, where she
furtively skinned eight Magazines while waiting for a Chum to pop
through the Whirligig Door.

The two went Window-Hopping for an hour. After making Mind Purchases
of about $8000 worth of washable Finery edged with Lace, a spirit of
Deviltry seized them.

They ordered their Lettuce Sandwiches and diluted Ceylon in a
Restaurant where roguish Men-about-Town sat facing the Main Entrance
to pipe the pulchritudinous Pippins.

Was it seven or eight Party Calls that she checked from her social
Ledger before 4 o'clock? Answer: eight.

Then a swinging Gallop for home. Whilst she had been socializing
around, Robert W. Chambers had taken a lead of two Novels on her.

Retiring to a quiet Alcove with four Volumes that were being dissected
at the drawing-room Clinics, she took a hack at the first and last
Chapter of each. Just enough to protect her against a Fumble if she
found herself next to a Book Sharp.

That evening a famous Hungarian Fiddler, accompanied by a warbling
Guinea Hen and backed up by sixty Symphonic Heineys wearing
Spectacles, was giving a