right, only you'd
better be careful I don't get cold feet first. Feather importers _is_ in
demand on Broadway this season," he added as an afterthought.

"But Mr. Gordon is an old friend," pouted Flossie. "I was introduced to
him one night when he sat at a table next to me during the run of
'Florodora.'"

"I suppose you were one of them original sextetters, eh?"

"Now, Marky, don't be horrid when I was just going to ask a little favor
of you."

Mr. Zinsheimer rose to his feet carefully, and buttoned up his coat with
an ominous air, while, relieved of his ballast, Flossie almost fell from
her comfortable perch on the arm of the big chair.

"Nothing doing, Flossie," remarked Zinsheimer, coldly. "Of course it's
all right for me to pay the hotel bill of my fiancee, but as the bill is
assuming generous proportions, I don't think the fiancee should expect
to go any further."

Flossie's dark eyes half filled with tears, and there was just a slight
suspicion of a twitch around the lips at the injustice done her, and she
said plaintively:

"Oh, I don't want to borrow any money."

At that Zinsheimer threw open his coat easily, sighed with relief, and
inquired easily:

"Why, certainly, my dear. What is it you want?"

"Well, it's about my chum, Pinkie Lexington," began Flossie, brushing a
few spects of dust from Mr. Zinsheimer's coat-sleeve. "We were out
together two years ago with 'The Girl from Paris'--the time it stranded
in Butte and you sent us the railroad tickets to come home."

"I remember," interrupted Zinsheimer, quickly. "Rather a pretty girl she
was, too."

"She's still pretty, but she's awful fat," resumed Flossie, wonderfully
innocently. "And I never heard any one call her beautiful. Anyhow, the
show she's with has gone on the rocks up near Indianapolis, and Pinkie
has been left high and dry without a cent."

"So you want me to send her some more rocks, eh?"

"Not at all. Pinkie wrote me all about it, and I wired her to come down
here at once. She's due this afternoon, and I can share my room with her
if you'll just speak to the manager and say we're good for the money."

Zinsheimer scratched his head reflectively.

"But neither of you has any money," he ventured.

"You know as soon as my lawsuit is settled, I will be on velvet,"
retorted Flossie, haughtily. "Meanwhile, your word with the manager
goes."

"Lawsuit?" repeated Mr. Zinsheimer. "Now, Flossie, that's been going on
for five years and