“And twenty-five cents.”

Mr. Kurtz gulped.  “In one day!  Why, I could buy a farm for that.  How much will you have to ‘earn’ to cover your living expenses for six months?”

“Ah, there we journey into the realm of purest speculation.”  Bob favored him with a sunny smile.  “As well ask me how much my living expenses must be in order to cover my earnings.  Whatever one is, the other will be approximately ditto—­or perhaps slightly in excess thereof.  Anyhow, nothing but rigid economy—­bane of my life—­will make the one fit into the other.  But I have a thought.  Something tells me these boys need white flannels, so get out your stock, Kurtz.  If they can’t play tennis they must learn, for my sake.”  Bob’s remarkable stroke of fortune called for a celebration, and his four customers clamored that he squander his first profits forthwith.  Ordinarily such a course would have been just to his liking; but now he was dying to tell Lorelei of his triumph, and, fearing to trust himself with even one drink, he escaped from his friends as soon as possible.  Thus it chanced that he arrived home sober.

It was a happy home-coming, for Ying was adorable and made his way instantly into Lorelei’s heart, while Bob was in a state of exaltation.  He had no desire to bind himself to Kurtz’s service for six months or for any other period; nor had he the least thought of living up to his agreement until Lorelei began to treat the matter seriously.  Then he objected blankly: 

“Why, it was all right as a joke, but I don’t want to be a tailor.  There’s no romance in woolen goods.”

“How much do you owe?” she asked.

“Really, I’ve no idea.  It’s something you don’t have to remember—­ somebody always reminds you in plenty of time, and then you borrow enough to pay up.”

“Let’s forget the romance and pay up without borrowing.  Remember you have two families to support.”  Noting that the idea of permanent employment galled him, she added, craftily, “Of course you’ll never sell another lot of clothes like this, but—­”

“Why not?  It’s like selling candy to a child.”

“You can’t go with that crowd without drinking.”

“Is that so?  Now you sit tight and hold your hat on.  I can make that business pay if I try, and still stay in the Rain-makers’ Union.  There’s big money in it—­enough so we can live the way we want to.  I’m sick of this telephone-booth, anyhow; we’ll present it to some nice newsboy and rent an apartment with a closet.  This one’s so small I don’t dare to let my trousers bag.  Besides, we’ve been under cover long enough, and I want you to meet the people I know.  We can afford the expense—­now that I’m making thirteen hundred and seventy-six dollars and twenty-five cents a day.”

“I should like to know nice people,” Lorelei confessed.  “I’m sick of the kind I’ve met; the men are indecent and the women are vulgar.  I’ve always wanted to know the other kind.”