n.o.body starts a new life at two A. M. And--it's all poured out."

She answered by taking the gla.s.s and flinging its contents from the open window. This done, she gathered the bottles from the sideboard--there were not many--and, opening the folding-doors that masked the kitchenette, she up-ended them over the sink. When the last gurgle had died away she went to her husband and put her arms around his neck.

"You must," she said, gently. "If you'll only let me have my way we'll win. But, Bob, dear, it's going to be a bitter fight."

Lorelei's family spent most of the night in discussing their great good fortune. Even Jim, worn out as he was by his part in the events connected with the marriage, sat until a late hour planning his sister's future, and incidentally his own. After he had gone to bed mother and father remained in a glow of exhilaration that made sleep impossible, and it was nearly dawn when they retired to dreams of hopes achieved and ambitions realized.

About nine-thirty on the following morning, just when the rival Wall Street forces were gathering, Hannibal Wharton called up the Knight establishment.

Mrs. Knight was impatient and at first refused to be disturbed, but when the servant at last made it plain that it was Hannibal C.

Wharton, not his son Robert, calling, she leaped from her bed with the agility of an acrobat.

"Peter," she cried, "it's Mr. Wharton himself!"

Peter likewise awoke to a tremendous excitement. "He probably wants to get acquainted," exclaimed the invalid. "Tell him to come right up. I can see him any time."

His wife was nervously pinning up her straggling hair, as if she feared the millions of the steel baron gave him the occult power to direct his vision along the wire.

"What shall I say to him?" she gasped. "I suppose I'll have to call on him and Mrs. Wharton, but I haven't a thing to wear."

"For G.o.d's sake, don't mention money," implored Peter. "Try to be pleasant for once in your life. Better let me talk to him."

But at this suggestion Mrs. Knight flared up angrily. "You stay where you are!" she snapped. "I know how to handle rich people."

"Mathilda," he shouted, as she hurried from the room, her slippers slapping loosely, a discolored wrapper clutched over her bony chest, "when he talks about Lorelei, cry for him. She's our only daughter and our only support, see? We can't bear to let her go.

If you'd only help me to the 'phone--"

The retort that came back was shrewish, but the next instant Mathilda's voice became as honey.

"How DO you do, Mr. Wharton?" she was bubbling. "I didn't mean to keep you waiting, but I couldn't imagine ... Yes, this is Lorelei's mother. I'm all upset over the marriage, and of course you are, too; but young people do the strangest things nowadays, don't they? We forgave them, of COURSE--one COULDN'T be angry with Robert, he's such a...What?"

Peter Knight let himself back into his bed with a feeble curse.

Women were such hysterical fools. What man could swallow that sickly society tone? Then he lifted himself again, round-eyed with apprehension. In that att.i.tude he remained frozen.

"Why, Mr. Wharton!" came echoing through the door. "How CAN you say such a thing? ... We knew nothing about it ... We did not ...

She's a good girl ... I'll have you understand you're talking to her mother ... He is not; Jim is a ... Oh! ... You talk like an old fool ... I ... You ..."

The sickly society tone was no longer in evidence. Mathilda's voice was shrill and furious; it rose higher with every second.

Peter shouted; he struggled with the bed-clothes. Meanwhile his wife appeared to be having a fit. Had a grounded wire poured an electric shock into her body she could not have clung to the instrument with more desperate tenacity. She writhed; her broken cries were plainly wrung from her by nothing less than agony.

At last there came a cessation of her incoherence and a tinkling of the bell as she furiously vibrated the hook.

"h.e.l.lo! ... h.e.l.lo! ... Central ... My party rang off. ... h.e.l.lo!"

The door of Jim's room burst open.

"What the devil?" he cried.

"Mathilda! Mathilda!" wailed Peter.

Mrs. Knight rushed into her husband's presence like a destroying angel. Jim followed in his pajamas. She was more disheveled than ever, her eyes were rolling, her cheeks were livid, her hair seemed to bristle from its fastenings. She was panting in a labored effort to relieve her feelings.

"What's the matter, ma?"

"Matter? h.e.l.l! That was Hannibal Wharton!" stormed the invalid.

"It's--all over," shrilled Mrs. Knight. "He won't have it. He's cut them off. He called me a--a--" Once more she choked in her rage; her teeth chattered. "BOB'S BROKE!"

"Wait a minute," Jim cried, roughly. "Let's hear all about it before you bite somebody. Is Wharton sore?"

"He's crazy. He said we trapped Bob. He called us grafters and thieves and blackmailing parasites--"

"Rats! Bob's got money of his own."

"Not a cent. He's in debt. And the old man won't give him a dollar until he's divorced."

"I don't believe it," protested Jim.

Peter mocked at them, his bloated, pasty face convulsed with anger. "Fine job you made of it, you two. So THIS is your grand match. THIS is how you put us on Easy Street, eh? You married the girl to a b.u.m. Why didn't you look him up?"

"Why didn't YOU?" screamed his wife. "YOU didn't say anything.

Everybody thinks he's rich--"

"He is, too," Jim a.s.serted. "He must be. Old Wharton is bluffing, but--We'll find out. Get into your dress, ma. We'll see Bob. I've got an ace buried, and if that dirty loafer sold us out I'll put him over the jumps. He can't double-cross ME, understand; I've got the goods on him, and on all of 'em."

"Oh, we've been double-crossed, all right," sneered Peter.

"Lorelei's down and out now. She's no good any more. I guess you'll listen to me next time."

His son turned upon him furiously, crying:

"Shut up! Or I'll--" He left his threat unfinished and rushed back to his room, muttering under his breath. As he flung himself into his clothes he could hear the quarrel still raging between the other two, and he lifted his clenched hands above his head with an oath.

"Fuss, fight, and fury," he wailed. "Fine place for a nervous guy!

If I don't end in a mad-house I'll be lucky."

CHAPTER XIX

On the way to the Elegancia Mrs. Knight recounted in greater detail and with numerous digressions and comments what Hannibal Wharton had said to her. Not only had he given full vent to his anger at the marriage, but he had allowed himself the pleasure of expressing a frank opinion of the entire Knight family in all its unmitigated and complete badness. Mrs. Knight herself he had called a blood-sucker, it seemed--the good woman shook with rage at the memory--and he had threatened her with the direst retribution if she persisted in attempting to fasten herself upon him. Bob, he had explained, was a loafer whom he had supported out of a sense of duty; if the idiot was ungrateful he would simply have to suffer the consequences. But Bob's mother felt the disgrace keenly, and on her account Hannibal had expressed himself as willing to ransom the young fool for, say, ten thousand dollars.

"Disgrace, eh? Ten thousand dollars?" Jim growled. "What does he think we are, anyhow? Why, that ain't cigarette money."

"I never was so insulted in my life," stormed Mrs. Knight. "You should have HEARD him!"

With a show of confidence not entirely real Jim rejoined: "Now, ma, don't heat up. Everybody forgets me, but I'm going to draw cards in this game."