o his very small wife. Tom sidled around where
he could see the people as they came, and began making mental notes.

"Mrs. Tad-Wallington, dressed in a kind of silverish flowered--brocaded,
I guess--stuff, with a bunch of white carnations--no, little roses.
Blond hair done up with a kind of a roach that lops over at one side of
her forehead." "There are our namesakes, the John Porters. Mrs. John has
a banana colored dress with a sort of mosquito netting all over it.
She's got one red rose pinned on in front." "There are the three Long
sisters, one pink, one white, and one blue. Pink and white are fluffy
goods. But Ruth'll not care how girls are dressed. It's the women."
"Here's a queen in black. Who is it? Oh, Lord! I am sorry I saw her
face. It's Mrs. May ----, the Irish washerwoman, as Ruth calls her. And
who's the Cleopatra with the silver snake around her arm, and the silver
do-funnies around her waist? Oh, Bess Smith! I am getting so many
details I'll have 'em all mixed up the first thing I know. Let me see,
who had on the red dress? Ding, I've forgotten. I'd better write them
down."

He got a card from his pocket and began writing abbreviated descriptions
on it. "Mrs. R. strp. slk." "Mrs. J. J. white; h. of a long train." "Sm.
Small brt. Mrs. Jones, wid." He filled up two cards and then slipped to
the dressing-room and away.

"Solomon could not beat that trick. I can tell Sweetheart more than she
could have found out herself if she had come. Now for something that's a
little more fun." He chuckled at his cleverness as he stepped on a car
to go the faster to his more fascinating party.

And he chuckled the following morning as he dressed.

"They were going to strip me, were they," he said to himself, as he
pulled a small roll of bills from the vest pocket of his dress suit.
"Well, not quite. Let me see. I had nineteen dollars with me. Now I have
five, ten, and ten are twenty, and five are twenty-five, twenty-six,
twenty-seven, twenty-eight, and two are thirty, thirty-one. And some
change. That's not stripping, anyway."

He laughed again as he pulled two cards from his pocket and saw his
memoranda of dresses.

"Good thought. I'd better read them over, for the morning paper may
contain some description, and I'd like to make good. 'Mrs. Paton, wht.
slk.' white silk. 'Mrs. Mull, d. t.' d. t.? What does d. t. stand for?
d. t.? I can't think of anything but delirium tremens, but that's not
it. D. t. Dark--dark wh