we held a reception up at Miss Verneaque’s flat, took up a collection for the widows and orphans and cleared $4.43 apiece on it.  The place got pinched and we all had to hide on the roof until the cops beat it.  But not for me this year.  Me for the peaceful kind of a celebration.  I don’t know what to do.  The only people I have on my calling list now are the agents, and they will all be home splashing in the egg-nog.

“Gee, but I wish I was home.  Was you ever in a country town on a New Year’s Day?  Say, list.  Sixty laughs in sixty minutes looks like a busy day at the morgue compared to the laughs they hand out in one of those one-night stand dumps.  The Sons of Temperance all go out and get a bun on ad lib. and everybody inhales good cheer.  I sang in the choir.  Honest I did, but it didn’t take.  I got a silver cigarette case yet the choirmaster gave me.  But no home this year; me to the Cafe des Enfants.  What?  Will I?  Don’t make such a foolish noise.  I’ll be there with my hair in a braid.  Two-thirty at Hector’s.  Say, you’ve got the Good Samaritan looking like a rent collector.  So long.”

In which Sabrina discloses a little of her past and those of the members of the company, tells how she was a bridesmaid and goes into detail in regard to the benefit to humanity of having carrier pigeons trained to rush the growler.

CHAPTER TWO

I was strolling down Broadway the other afternoon with Oscar when we happened to meet Miss Sabrina, the show girl.  I introduced them, of course, and then retired to the background.  This is what followed: 

“I am very glad to meet you, Mr. Jenkins.  I’ve heard the party here speak of you.”

“Yes; and I have heard him say several nice things about you.”

“Is that so?”

“Sure.  But don’t take it to heart; he means well.”

“Well, I can only say he treats me like a true friend.”

“Speaking of treats, I’ll buy the beer.”

“My goodness!  Ain’t you afraid of catching cold—­taking so much money out of your clothes all at once?”

“What was that you handed out?  Come again, please.”

“I merely remarked that it was awful kind of you.”

“Oh, that’s all right; I always was careless with my money.”

“I always like this place; it reminds me so much of the back of the drug store in Emporia.”

“Then you are from the West, Miss De Vear.”

“Oh, yes, indeed, I’m a Western girl pure and simple—­”

“You said, ‘pure and simple,’ did you not?”

“I most certainly did, and I’d like to see the party that’s got anything on me.  I come from a dead swell family, I do.  I may be only a poor chorus girl, but by gosh!  I was brung up right.  Did you know that I was featured for three seasons in the church choir in my home town and would have had it for life if the stage manag—­I mean the choirmaster hadn’t forgot he was a gentleman; so I just quit rather than cause talk.  Why, would you believe it?—­my father was mayor of Emporia for nearly two terms.  You’d be surprised if I told you my real name and some of the people I am related to.  Say, what are you going to do with that book?  Trying to dope out whether you can buy another drink, I suppose.”