ered up their magazines, glowered at the
placid Zinsheimer and the nonplussed boy, murmured "Wretch," and
departed.

"But I mean, there's no smoking here," continued the boy.

"Marky" Zinsheimer blew a particularly large whiff of smoke in the
direction of the checker-table.

"You're wrong, kid," he remarked. "There _is_ smoking here, and I'm
doing it."

"But it's against the hotel rules."

"Hotel rules are like a woman's mind," said "Marky" carelessly, moving
toward the checker-table. "They can be changed to fit any situation."

The checker-players were so much absorbed in their game that they did
not notice him at first, so he leaned over the table, genially, and
inquired:

"Well, whose move is it now?"

"I believe it's mine," retorted one of the two players, indignantly
rising to her feet and starting toward the door.

"And mine," responded the other, following suit. At the door the twain
paused and called to the other occupant of the room: "We are going for a
walk, Mabel. Won't you come?"

Mabel picked up her book and moved toward the irate checker-players who
had been so summarily routed.

"I don't like that cigar," she declared, stopping and turning to
Zinsheimer.

"Well, then, try one of these," responded the irrepressible "Marky,"
offering several long perfectos from a leather case. He was answered
only by a snort of indignation, and the next moment the smiling and
courteous Mr. Zinsheimer, alone on the field of battle, settled himself
in the most comfortable of the vacated chairs.

But "Marky's" serenity was to be short-lived. There was a rattle of
chatelaine chains, a vague and indistinct odor of some unrecognizable
but vivid perfume, the rustle of silken skirts, a cry of glad surprise,
and Miss Flossie Forsythe, engaging, attractive, youthful and magnetic,
settled herself on the arm of his rocking-chair as though entitled to
rest there by the law of eminent domain.

"Marky," she cried, "I've been looking for you everywhere! Who ever
would have thought of finding you in the sun parlor?"

Mr. Zinsheimer coughed uneasily.

"Yes, that's just what I thought," he stammered. "You see," he added, "I
noticed you talking to that swell chap Gordon in the lobby, and I didn't
like it."

Flossie patted his cheek playfully, in spite of "Marky's" efforts to
elude her, and said joyfully:

"Oh, Marky, you were jealous!"

Mr. Zinsheimer grunted.

"Well, if you want to find a new backer, go ahead. All