"'Scuse me!" says a thick-voiced banqueter in the hall. "I thought it
was my hat! Hooray! 'Scuse me! I know it's pretty late. Whoop!
'Scuse me!"

The waiters bicker hotly; the counting-room bell rings afar off. There
is a smothered cry of "Front!"

"All trains for the East--" comes a monotonous announcement in the
corridors.

"Sixty-six! Number sixty-six!" screeches the carriage-crier.

A drunken refrain floats on the air from Wabash avenue:

"We won't go home till morn-i-n-g,
T-i-l-l daylight doth appear."




CHAPTER V

LETTERS OF CONSOLATION

On the Africa David Lockwin loved but one person, and that was David
Lockwin.

On this morning after the banquet David Lockwin hates but one person, and
that is David Lockwin.