the disruption of the Holbein Club, took up in perturbed detail the
glaring problem of Kenny's tantrums. He was keeping everyone excited.

"Of course," mused Garry, "you could earn your living as a moving
picture actor--"

"Adams owes me five thousand dollars for his wife's portrait,"
sputtered Kenny. "But I can't get it. He's been sick for weeks.
Typhoid."

"And in the meantime?"

The shaft went home. Kenny sent for a model--and sent her home.

"She was too ornamental and decidedly sympathetic," he explained
gloomily to Garry. "I'm just in the mood to make a colossal fool of
myself. She was the sort of girl you'd invite to tea to meet your
brother's wife."

"Kenny!"

"She was!" insisted Kenny.

"Any number of models are and you know it. And that girl is Jan's
cousin."

"I make a point of never losing my head over a model," declared Kenny
with an air. "It's a hindrance to work. You concentrate on a type and
every picture you do advertises your devotion. Suppose I married her!"