more.

The droning gurgle that he made kept Tinto awake. When his lower jaw
sagged, and he began to really show what snoring could be, Tinto, very
nervous, got up and hopped down.

It was still daylight when Mortimer awoke, conscious of people about
him. As he opened his eyes, a man laughed; several people seated by
the windows joined in. Then, straightening up with an effort, something
tumbled from his head to the floor and he started to rise.

"Oh, look out, Leroy! Don't step on my hat!" cried a girl's voice; and
he sank back in his chair, gazing stupidly around.

"Hello! you people!" he said, amused; "I guess I've been asleep. Oh, is
that you Millbank? Whose hat was that--yours, Lydia?"

He yawned, laughed, turning his heavy eyes from one to another,
recognising a couple of young girls at the window. He didn't want to
get up; but there is, in the society he now adorned, a stringency of
etiquette known as "re-finement," and which, to ignore, is to become
unpopular.

So he got onto his massive legs and went over to shake hands with a
gravity becoming the ceremony.

"How d'ye do, Miss Hutchinson? Thought you were at Asbury Park. How de
do, Miss Del Garcia. Have you been out in Millbank's motor yet?"

"We broke down at McGowan's Pass," said Miss Del Garcia, laughing the
laugh that had made her so attractive in "A Word to the Wise."

"Muddy gasoline," nodded Millbank tersely--an iron-jawed, over-groomed
man of forty, with a florid face shaved blue.

"We passed Mr. Plank's big touring-car," observed Lydia Vyse, shifting
Tinto to the couch and brushing the black and white hairs from her
automobile coat. "How much does a car like that cost, Leroy?"

"About twenty-five thousand," he said gloomily. Then, looking up, "Hold
on, Millbank, don't be going! Why can't you all dine with us? Never
mind your car; ours is all right, and we'll run out into the country for
dinner. How about it, Miss Del Garcia?"

But both Miss Del Garcia and Miss Hutchinson had accepted another
invitation, in which Millbank was also included.

They stood about, veils floating, leather decorated coats thrown back,
lingering for awhile to talk the garage talk which fascinates people of
their type; then Millbank looked at the clock, made his adieux to Lydia,
nodded significantly to Mortimer, and followed the others down-stairs.

There was something amiss with his motor, for it made a startling racket
in the street, finally plunging forward w