couples clasping each other's arms as they strolled, "twos-ing" most heedlessly on the walks beside the boulevard down which the clicking taxi drove.
Mr. Saltro thrust a hand into a pocket. "Ever smoke?" he tried Marjorie, with revived hope as he drew out an elaborately chased cigarette case.
"Yes," said Marjorie, remembering the last time she took a cigarette; from Gregg, it was, in his car, on the way to the Lovells' dance. How cheap to smoke then, between Billy and Gregg, and deny it now!
Mr. Saltro took out a cigarette for her; momentarily he held it, and if she guessed correctly his thought, he was deliberating the tact of lighting the cigarette for her and passing it from his lips to hers. So she took one for herself, but let him hold the match before her lips and she leaned away again.
He considered her more approvingly. "Those your kind?"
She nodded.
"Have some of this?" said Mr. Saltro.
This was a silver flask with cup top, which he obtained from a hip pocket.
"What is it?" she asked calmly.
"Bourbon."
"Your own still or bootlegged?"
"Twelve dollars a quart," assured Mr. Saltro, proudly. "You've taken a drink before now, haven't you?" he pressed quickly, feeling the threat of more prudishness.
"Certainly," Marjorie admitted honestly. "Often."
"This is fine stuff! From the last half of a bottle; the other half never done anybody anything but good." He poured a cup full and drank it for proof. "Try one now?" he urged. "Look here, if you don't want
