"And a gold-colored bird-of-paradise for a black-velvet hat, all my life,
Harry--"

"With Alma Zitelle in the part--"

"Is it her picture I found in your drawer the other day, Harry, cut out
from a Sunday newspaper?"

"One and the same. I been watching her. There's a world of money in that
woman, whoever she is. She's eccentric and they make her play straight, but
if I could get hold of her--My God! Millie, I--I can't believe things!"

She rose, coming round to lay her arms across his shoulders.

"We'll be rich, maybe, Harry--"

"I've picked the winners for the other fellows every time, Mil."

"Anyhow, it's worth the gamble, Harry."

"I got a nose for what the people want. I've never been able to prove it
from a high stool, but I'll show 'em now--by God! I'll show 'em now!" He
sprang up, pulling the white table-cloth awry and folding her into his
embrace. "I'll show 'em."

She leaned from him, her two hands against his chest, head thrown back and
eyes up to him.

"We--can educate our boy, then, Harry, like--like a rich man's son."