“Say!  Has Bob welched?” he demanded, harshly.

The amber head shook in negation.

“Isn’t he—­nice to you?” quavered Mrs. Knight.

“Yes.  But—­I’m sorry I did it.  He was drinking; he didn’t know what he was doing—­”

“Hush!” Mrs. Knight cast a fearful glance over her shoulder.  “It was all straight and aboveboard, and he knew perfectly well what he was about.  Jim would swear to it.”

Lorelei lifted a tragic, tear-stained face.  “I ought to be hanged,” she said.

Jim laughed with relief.  “There’s gratitude for you!  If I had your share of the Wharton coin I’d let ’em hang me—­for a while.”

“There, there!” Mrs. Knight chided her daughter.  “You’re worn out, and no wonder; but everything is lovely.  I’m dying to meet Robert’s mother, now that we have so much in common.  I’m sure I’ll like her, although I can’t see what pleasure she can get from giving away money.  Why, she’s simply robbing Bob’s family when she throws her thousands to charity, and I intend to tell her so, too, in a nice way, the first chance I get.  Of course, you’ll quit the Revue to-night.  That’ll be a relief, won’t it?  Has Robert given you anything yet?  They say he’s terribly generous.”

“I can’t quit right away, now that Lilas has left.  But I dare say Bob won’t let me work very long.”

“Indeed!  I should hope not.”  Mrs. Knight’s chin lifted.  “If I were you I’d never go near Bergman’s theater again.  Let him sue you.”

Jim eyed his sister admiringly.  “You’re a dandy crier, Sis,” he observed.  “Your nose doesn’t swell and your eyes don’t pop out.  You could sob your way right into the Wharton family if you tried.”  He lit a cigar, sighed gratefully, and, dragon-like, emitted twin columns of smoke from his nostrils.  “Hannibal Wharton is worth twenty millions easy,” he went on, complacently; “maybe forty.  We didn’t do so badly—­for country yaps—­did we?  It feels mighty good to be in the kale-patch.  No more small change for yours truly.  But, say—­it was a battle!”

Mrs. Knight ran down slowly, like a clock.  This sudden and unexpected triumph had gone to her head; she could talk only of dollars and cents.  In her fancy she juggled huge sums of money; she drew extravagant pictures of a glittering future in which the whole family figured.  Throughout this sordid chatter, with its avaricious gloatings and endless repetitions, Lorelei sat listless, her thoughts far from pleasant.  It had required this final touch to make her fully feel her wretchedly false position.

As mother and son were leaving, Jim managed to get a word in private with his sister.

“Don’t weaken,” he cautioned her.  “Lynn’s gone, and it’s all over.  We’ve got the whip-hand on all of ’em—­Hammon, Merkle, Bob, Lilas —­everybody.  We’ve got ’em all, understand?  We’ve landed big!”