“Do you know what I’m up to?  I got my eye on the swellest fur-lined coat you ever saw ... at Magnin’s.  But you can bet I’m going to keep my eye on it until after the holidays.  They want a hundred and a quarter for it now, but they’ll be glad to take sixty-five when the gay festivities are over, or I miss my guess.  I go in every other day to have a look at it, and when the girl’s back is turned I hang it back in the case myself—­’way back where everybody else will overlook it.  Oh, I know the game all right.  I did the same thing with a three piece suit last summer.  But I say, All is fair in war and the high cost of living.  Maybe you think I haven’t had a time scraping the wherewithal for that coat together.  But I brought the total up to seventy the other day by getting Billy Holmes to slip me a ten in advance for Christmas.  I never trust a man to invest in anything for me if I can help it.  They usually run to manicure sets in satin-lined cases or cut-glass cologne-bottles.  Billy Holmes?...  Oh, you know him!  He ran the reinsurance desk at the Royal for years.  They put him on the road last week.  He’s some live wire.  And what’s better, he has no incumbrances.  I’ll tell you what it is, Robson, I’m getting kind of tired of the goings.  I’m just about ready to settle down by the old steam-radiator.  And as long as I’ve got eyesight enough to look the field over, I’ve decided on a traveling-man or a sea-captain.  They’ll be sticking around home just about often enough to suit me....  Not that I’m a man-hater, but I’ve never had ’em for a steady diet and I’m not going to begin to get the habit this late day.”

Nellie Whitehead stayed about an hour, and, as Claire opened the front door upon her friend’s departure the letter-man thrust an envelope into her hands.  She opened it hastily and turned suddenly white.

“Well, Robson, what’s wrong now?” inquired Nellie.

“Flint ... he’s let me out ...  Miss Munch was right!”

CHAPTER IX

On the selfsame Saturday of Claire’s dismissal from the office ranks of the Falcon Insurance Company Ned Stillman was the recipient of an early telephone message from Lily Condor.  It appeared that Flora Menzies, the young woman who usually accompanied her in her vocal flights, had been laid low with pneumonia and she wanted Stillman to persuade Claire Robson to succeed to the honorary position.

“She did so famously on that night of our musicale,” Lily Condor had explained, “and Flora won’t be in shape again for a good three months.  Of course, there isn’t anything in it but glory.  I’m just one of those ‘sweet charity’ artists.  But I think she is a dear, and I know that you have influence.”

Stillman pretended to be annoyed at Mrs. Condor’s assumption that his word would carry any weight in the matter, but as a matter of fact he felt pleased in secret masculine fashion.  Chancing to pass Flint’s office at the noon hour, he dropped in.  It happened that Miss Munch was standing near the counter, and she answered his inquiries with suave eagerness.