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 FLAMING

YOUTH

219

“You make me sick, all of you,” vociferated Osterhout, “You wouldn’t talk about these things before young girls, yet you’d admit the stuff in this form. T’ll see that this specimen doesn’t befoul anyone’s eyes.” There was the rustle of a newspaper being violently crumpled. “Where’s the damned waste-basket?” “Chuck it in the wood-box and forget it. Have a drink,” advised Browning. Her quick and prurient curiosity stimulated, Pat made instant resolution to retrieve that newspaper and see for herself later how ‘they did these things. Presently the men came in and joined the group in the library. Pat sang for them to*her father’s accompaniment, also to his delighted surprise, for, with his natural taste he appreciated the genuine quality of the voice. Then there was poker, family limit, meaning fifty cents. At midnight Dee called for a round of roodies, declaring that she was tired out. She had previously announced her intention of spending the night at the Knoll, as James was taking an early morning train to attend a sale at which he expected to pick up some polo ponies. Pat, going upstairs last, as befitted the chatelaine, heard Dee moving about in the bathroom, and went to her own room to wait. When all was quiet she slipped on a dressing gown and tiptoed downstairs to rifle the woodbox of its denounced print. There was a single light on in the loggia. Astonished, Pat crept to a viewpoint and peeped in. Dee, with an intent and haunted face, was smocthing

out the newspaper upon her knee.