about it."

"You had a cold ride, no doubt, in that low car," she went on, to
Montague. "What made you late?"

"We had some delays," he answered. "Once we thought we were arrested."

"Arrested!" she exclaimed; and others took up the word, crying, "Oh,
Ollie! tell us about it!"

Oliver told the tale, and meantime his brother had a chance to look
about him. All of the party were young--he judged that he was the
oldest person there. They were not of the flashily dressed sort, but no
one would have had to look twice to know that there was money in the
crowd. They had had their first round of drinks, and started in to
enjoy themselves. They were all intimates, calling each other by their
first names. Montague noticed that these names always ended in
"ie,"--there was Robbie and Freddie and Auggie and Clarrie and Bertie
and Chappie; if their names could not be made to end properly, they had
nicknames instead.

"Ollie" told how they had distanced the policeman; and Clarrie Mason
(one of the younger sons of the once mighty railroad king) told of a
similar feat which his car had performed. And then the young lady who
sat beside him told how a fat Irish woman had skipped out of their way
as they rounded a corner, and stood and cursed them from the
vantage-point of the sidewalk.

The waiter came with the liquor, and Montague thanked his neighbour,
Miss Price. Anabel Price was her name, and they called her "Billy"; she
was a tall and splendidly formed creature, and he learned in due time
that she was a famous athlete. She must have divined that he would feel
a little lost in this crowd of intimates, and set to work to make him
feel at home--an attempt in which she was not altogether successful.

They were bound for a shooting-lodge, and so she asked him if he were
fond of shooting. He replied that he was; in answer to a further
question he said that he had hunted chiefly deer and wild turkey. "Ah,
then you are a real hunter!" said Miss Price. "I'm afraid you'll scorn
our way."

"What do you do?" he inquired.

"Wait and you'll see," replied she; and added, casually, "When you get
to be pally with us, you'll conclude we don't furnish."

Montague's jaw dropped just a little. He recovered himself, however,
and said that he presumed so, or that he trusted not; afterward, when
he had made inquiries and found out what he should have said, he had
completely forgotten what he HAD said.--Down in a hotel in Natchez
there was an ol