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 tinued. I thought it was good. Let's see, how does it go on?

Bunk, echoed McKain. Bunk. It isn't a bit like that.

The entertainer had at last arrived at their table. Swaying back and forth, her eyes obliquely surveying the room, her mind apparently a vacuum, she howled through her megaphone:

Pleasing sentiment, Baldwin remarked. How much shall I give her? he demanded of Byron.

Oh, half a dollar. A quarter. It doesn't matter.

McKain took out his purse and extracted a dollar bill.

Roy! some one across the room hailed him.

Why, there's Dana Paton, McKain cried. He's calling us over. He dragged Baldwin away with him.

They mean all right, Byron, Dick assured his friend apologetically.

I suppose they do, Byron replied, but I've had a