LITMIR.BIZ

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commented, when she heard the full story of Hammon's party. "He'll dislike you now."

      The girl shrugged daintily. "He was drunk and fresh. I can't bear a man in such a condition."

      "But—he's terribly rich, and he's an only son. He'll inherit everything. Is he nice-looking?"

      "Um-m—yes."

      "You shouldn't antagonize a man like him, my dear. He's single, at least; and naturally he's impulsive, like all those young millionaires. They have so many girls to choose from, you know. Young Powell, who married Norma Gale, was the same sort. She was twice his age, but he married her just the same, and his people made a fine settlement to get rid of her. She was—tough, too. Mrs. Wharton is a great club—woman and the head of a thousand charities."

      "That's no sign she's charitable."

      "You can't tell. She might take you right into the family."

      "Bob is an alcoholic. He's no good, so Mr. Merkle said."

      Jim, who was immersed in the morning paper, spoke from his chair near the window.

      "Why don't you go after Merkle himself, Sis? Easy picking, these bankers."

      Jim also had come home in the still hours of the night before, and had but lately made his breakfast on a cup of coffee, three cigarettes, and the racing sheet of the Morning Telegraph. He wore his pajama jacket over a silk undershirt, and was now resting preparatory to his daily battle with the world. Just how the struggle went or where it was waged the others knew not at all.

      His mother shook her head. "Those old men are all alike. Mr. Hammon will never marry Lilas."

      "Is that so?" James abandoned his reading. "The older they are, the softer they get. Take it from me, on the word of a volunteer fireman, Lilas will cash in on him quicker than you think. I know."

      "How do you know?" inquired his sister.

      "Never mind how. Maybe I've got second sight. Anyhow, the info is right; Hammon's in the game-bag."

      "Who told you?"

      "Maybe I got it in the dog-eared dope," mocked the brother. "Maybe Max Melcher told me. Anyhow, you could land Merkle just as easy if you'd declare Max in."

      "Now, Jim," protested Mrs. Knight, "I won't let you put such ideas into her head. You and—that gang of yours—are full of tricks, but Lorelei's decent, and she's going to stay decent. You'd get everybody in jail or in the newspapers."

      "Has Maxey ever been in jail? Has Tony the Barber? No, you bet they haven't, and they never will be. This jail talk is funny. Just wait and see how easy Lilas gets hers. Of course, if Lorelei could marry Wharton, that would be different, but he's no sucker."

      "How is Lilas going to get hers?" insisted Lorelei.

      "Wait and see." James returned to his paper.

      "She'll never marry him. She hates him."

      Jim laughed, and his sister broke out irritably:

      "Why be so mysterious? Anybody would think you'd robbed a bank."

      Jim looked up again, and this time with a scowl. "Well, every time I come through with a suggestion ma crabs it. What's the use of talking to a pair of haymakers like you, anyhow? I could grab a lot of coin for us if you'd let me. Why, Maxey has been after me a dozen times about you, but I knew you wouldn't stand for it."

      "Blackmail, eh?"

      Jim was highly disgusted. "What's the difference how you pronounce it? It spells k-a-l-e, and it takes a good-looking girl to pull off a deal in this town. When Lilas lands Hammon she'll be through with the show business for good. The Kaiser suite on the Imperator for hers."

      Lorelei flung aside her napkin with an exclamation.

      "What's wrong now?" demanded Jim. "Sore again because I offer to make a few pennies for you? All right—play for Bob Wharton. I'd like to meet him, though; he can do me a lot of good."

      "How?"

      "Well, he dropped eighty-four hundred in Hebling's Sixth Avenue joint the other night. Maxey owns a place on Forty-sixth Street where the sky is the limit."

      His sister was staring at him curiously. She had voiced misgivings concerning his activities of late, but Jim had never satisfied her inquiries. Now she asked: "What is your share?"

      The young man laughed a little uncomfortably. "Forty per cent. That's usual. If he's going to gamble somewhere I might as well be in on it."

      Lorelei turned to her mother, but Mrs. Knight seemed puzzled at this turn of the conversation. The girl's next words, however, left no doubt as to her feelings.

      "You're a fine specimen, aren't you?" Her lip curled; mother and son started at the bitterness of the tone. "You're in a fine business, too, blackmailing with Tony the Barber's crowd, and capping for a jinny."

      "Who said anything about a jinny?"

      "Ugh! What a mess you've made of things. Two years ago we were decent, and now—" Lorelei's voice broke; her eyes filmed over with tears. "I'd give anything in the world if we were all back in Vale. It took only two years of the city to spoil us."

      "Never mind the dramatics," Jim growled. "What's your kick? You're on

       Broadway, ain't you?"

      "Yes, with a six-room flat on Amsterdam Avenue. Pa is a cripple, you're a crook, and I'm—"

      The mother broke in sharply. "Jim is no crook. You've no right to talk like this, after all we've done for you."

      "Sure. Why did we come to New York, anyhow?" echoed the young man. "What brought us here? Ain't you having the time of your young life—parties, presents, joy-rides, every day? Gee! I wish I made the coin you do."

      "I hate it."

      "Ha! Better try Vale again. You'd end in a straight-jacket if you did. You think you could go back, but you couldn't—nobody can after they've had a taste of the city."

      "It's all wrong. The whole thing is—rotten. Sometimes I hate myself."

       Lorelei choked.

      Mrs. Knight spoke reprovingly. "Don't be silly, dear. You know we did it all for you. Peter didn't want to leave home, and Jim had a good job, but we gave up everything to let you have a chance. Yes, and we've all worked for you every minute since. Do you think I like this stuffy flat, after that other house with the yard and the trees and the sunshine? Peter lies in his room here, day in and day out, and never has a moment's comfort or pleasure. I don't know a soul; I haven't a friend or a neighbor. But we're not complaining." Mrs. Knight put added feeling into her words. "We don't want you to live the way we've had to live; we want you to be rich and to have things. After all we've done; after all poor Peter has suffered—"

      "Don't!" cried the girl, falteringly. "I think of him every hour."

      "He isn't the sort that complains. I consider it very thoughtless of you to behave as you do and make it harder for us." Mrs. Knight sniffed and wiped her eyes, whereupon Lorelei went to her and hid her face upon her mother's shoulder.

      "I don't want to be unkind," she murmured, "but sometimes I'm sick with disgust, and then again I'm frightened. Where are we heading? What's going to become of us?—of me? That man, last night—there was something in his face, something in the way he held me—just as if I were his for the taking. It isn't the first time I've seen it, either. All the men I meet are beasts. That whole party was sordid and mean—old men drinking with girls and pawing them over. Mr. Merkle was the only nice one there." The mother was dismayed to feel her daughter shiver.

      "Good Lord! You people make me sick," cried Jim, rising and making for his room. "Anybody'd think you'd been insulted."

      When he had gone Mrs. Knight asked, accusingly.

      "Lorelei, are you IN LOVE?"

      "No. Why?"

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