"

"It's a winner," said Bill.

"Of course," said Archie, "I'm not urging you. I merely make the
suggestion. If you know a better 'ole go to it!"

"It's terrific!" said Bill.

"It's absurd!" said Lucille.

"My dear old partner of joys and sorrows," said Archie, wounded,
"we court criticism, but this is mere abuse. What seems to be the
difficulty?"

"The leader of the orchestra would be afraid to do it."

"Ten dollars--supplied by William here--push it over, Bill, old
man--will remove his tremors."

"And Father's certain to find out."

"Am I afraid of Father?" cried Archie, manfully. "Well, yes, I am!" he
added, after a moment's reflection. "But I don't see how he can possibly
get to know."

"Of course he can't," said Bill, decidedly. "Fix it up as soon as you
can, Archie. This is what the doctor ordered."

CHAPTER XXIV. THE MELTING OF MR. CONNOLLY

The main dining-room of the Hotel Cosmopolis is a decorous place. The
lighting is artistically dim, and the genuine old tapestries on the
walls seem, with their mediaeval calm, to discourage any essay in the
riotous. Soft-footed waiters shimmer to and fro over thick, expensive
carpets to the music of an orchestra which abstains wholly from the
noisy modernity of jazz. To Archie, who during the past few days had
been privileged to hear Miss Huskisson rehearsing, the place had a sort
of brooding quiet, like the ocean just before the arrival of a cyclone.
As Lucille had said, Miss Huskisson's voice was loud. It was a powerful
organ, and there was no doubt that it would take the cloistered
stillness of the Cosmopolis dining-room and stand it on one ear. Almost
unconsciously, Archie found himself bracing his muscles and holding his
breath as he had done in France at the approach of the zero hour, when
awaiting the first roar of a barrage. He listened mechanically to the
conversation of Mr. Blumenthal.

The music-publisher was talking with some vehemence on the subject
of Labour. A recent printers' strike had bitten deeply into Mr.
Blumenthal's soul. The working man, he considered, was rapidly landing
God's Country in the soup, and he had twice upset his glass with the
vehemence of his gesticulation. He was an energetic right-and-left-hand
talker.

"The more you give 'em the more they want!" he complained. "There's no
pleasing 'em! It isn't only in my business. There's your father, Mrs.
Moffam!"

"Good God! Where?" said Archie, starting.

"I say, take