on cheeks and lips and quite all
with extreme, sophistication in their eyes. There was shining silver and
much white linen. Chafing dishes blazed. French and Austrian waiters
moved swiftly about under the commanding eye of a stern captain.
Uniformed but pocketless hat boys slipped it and out, pouncing on every
loose article of apparel.... It was a gay scene; and Peter found himself
in it, of it, for it. With rising exultation in his heart he reflected
that he was back on Broadway, where (after all) he belonged.

His manager of the afternoon came in now, who believed, with Peter, that
woman's place was the home. He was in evening dress--a fat man. At
his side tripped a very young-appearing girl indeed--the youngest and
prettiest in the room, but with the make-up and sophistication of
the others. Men (and women) stared at them as they passed. There was
whispering; for this was the successful Max Neuerman, and the girl was
the lucky Eileen O'Rourke.

Neuerrman sighted Peter, greeted him boisterously, himself drew up an
unoccupied chair. Peter was made acquainted with Miss O'Rourke. “This
is the man, Eileen,” said Neuerman, breathing confidences, “Wrote _The
Trufiler_. Big thing! Absolutely a new note on Broadway! Eric here has
caught the new bachelor woman, shown her up and put a tag on her. After
this she'll be called a truffler everywhere.... By the way, Eric, I sent
the contract down to you to-night by messenger. And the check.”

Miss Eileen O'Rourke smiled indulgently and a thought absently. While
Peter lighted, thanks to Neuermnn, a thirty-cent cigar and impulsively
told Miss O'Rourke (who continued to smile indulgently and absently)
just how he had come to hit on that remarkable tag.

It was nearly nine o'clock when he left and walked, very erect, from the
restaurant, conscious of a hundred eyes on his back. He gave the hat boy
a quarter.

Out on Forty-second Street he paused to clear his exuberant but confused
mind. He couldn't go back to the rooms; not as he felt now. Cabarets
bored him. It was too e