She paused for comment and congratulations, eyeing her companion expectantly.

“Huh!” said the new parlour-maid briefly, and resumed her Schopenhauer.  Decidedly hers was not a winning personality.

“Ain’t it a beaut?” demanded Celestine, damped.

The new parlour-maid uttered a curious sound at the back of her throat.

“He’s a beaut!” she said cryptically.

She added another remark in a lower tone, too low for Celestine’s ears.  It could hardly have been that, but it sounded to Celestine like: 

“I’ll fix ’m!”

CHAPTER XXI

CHICAGO ED.

Riverside Drive slept.  The moon shone on darkened windows and deserted sidewalks.  It was past one o’clock in the morning.  The wicked Forties were still ablaze with light and noisy foxtrots; but in the virtuous Hundreds, where Mr. Pett’s house stood, respectable slumber reigned.  Only the occasional drone of a passing automobile broke the silence, or the love-sick cry of some feline Romeo patrolling a wall-top.

Jimmy was awake.  He was sitting on the edge of his bed watching his father put the finishing touches to his make-up, which was of a shaggy and intimidating nature.  The elder Crocker had conceived the outward aspect of Chicago Ed., King of the Kidnappers, on broad and impressive lines, and one glance would have been enough to tell the sagacious observer that here was no white-souled comrade for a nocturnal saunter down lonely lanes and out-of-the-way alleys.

Mr. Crocker seemed to feel this himself.

“The only trouble is, Jim,” he said, peering at himself in the glass, “shan’t I scare the boy to death directly he sees me?  Oughtn’t I to give him some sort of warning?”

“How?  Do you suggest sending him a formal note?”

Mr. Crocker surveyed his repellent features doubtfully.

“It’s a good deal to spring on a kid at one in the morning,” he said.  “Suppose he has a fit!”

“He’s far more likely to give you one.  Don’t you worry about Ogden, dad.  I shouldn’t think there was a child alive more equal to handling such a situation.”

There was an empty glass standing on a tray on the dressing-table.  Mr. Crocker eyed this sadly.

“I wish you hadn’t thrown that stuff away, Jim.  I could have done with it.  I’m feeling nervous.”

“Nonsense, dad!  You’re all right!  I had to throw it away.  I’m on the wagon now, but how long I should have stayed on with that smiling up at me I don’t know.  I’ve made up my mind never to lower myself to the level of the beasts that perish with the demon Rum again, because my future wife has strong views on the subject:  but there’s no sense in taking chances.  Temptation is all very well, but you don’t need it on your dressing-table.  It was a kindly thought of yours to place it there, dad, but—­”

“Eh?  I didn’t put it there.”