Warren and Shine
seemed satisfied with their hospitable endeavors, as they bade
good-night. The elevator brought up two belated guests, the roseate
Pinkie and a colorless youth.
"Oh, are you going, Mr. Shirley? What a blooming shame. I just
left the most wonderful supper-party at the Claridge to see you."
"Too bad: I hope for better luck next time."
"The elevator is waiting," and Helene's gaze was scornful.
Shirley restrained his smile at the girl's covert hatred of the
redhaired charmer. Then he asked maliciously: "Isn't she
interesting? Too bad she associates with her inferiors."
"You put it mildly."
"Here, boy, call a taxicab," he ordered the attendant, as they
reached the lower level.
"Sorry, boss, but I dassent leave the elevator at this time of
night. I'm the only one in the place jest now."
Shirley insisted, with a duty soother of silver, but the negro
returned in a few minutes, shaking his head. Shirley ordered him
to telephone the nearest hacking-stand. Then followed another
delay, without result.
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