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FLAMING

YOUTH

“No? Well, youth survives these disappointments.” “Fishing,” she retorted. “No; I shan’t tell you how much nicer you are than the prospectus. What are you going to do with me?” “Whatever you permit.” “Oh, have a care of yourself! That might take you far. But I can decide better after eating. Where do we go for that?” “How would the Ritz do?” “Music to my ears. Can you get a cocktail there?” “T think it might be managed, confidentially.” “That’ll do nicely for a starter.” “A starter? Isee. And for continuance?” “I’m feeling a little down to-day. What would you

prescribe?” “T’ve heard that that medicine with bubbles in it possesses a self-raising quality.” “From now on you’re my family physician. But I’m sinking rapidly.” He contemplated her curiously. “Believe me, Miss Parmenter, I don’t want to spoil sport before it begins, but— how old are you?” “Twenty-one. Beyond the age of consent—for drinks. It’s all right; I know how to say ‘when’ to a bottle. And

I’m not so old but that you might call me Cissie if you like. I think it would help pass the time.” “And as I’m still short of forty, I suppose, on the same principle, you’d better call me Cary.” “How nicely you play back! And Pat told me you were slow; nice, but slow.”

At the mention of Pat’s name a little surge of anger and contempt went through Scott’s veins. But he answered lightly: “I’m a plodding old party, it’s true. But I de