busy. We blew into one of those concert halls over on Eighth Avenue
where they have sand on the floor, red-white-and-blue tissue paper
around the edge of the ceiling, no programme because it costs too
much, and a bum piano for an orchestra. The Professor wore no coat,
but he certainly knew his way around the ivories. A sad-looking,
thin guy, with a four days' growth and a large near-diamond stud,
came out and announced that the next turn was the feature of the
evening--the winsome Sisters Montclair, who would sing a lovely
waltz ballad written expressly for them, entitled, "The Check
Was Forged--He Had Went Too Far." Johnny Black set 'em up to the
Professor right in the middle of the song, and the Professor bowed
his regards, blew the froth off his beer, drank it, and lit a
cigarette without losing a note. Immediately after the act the
Professor presented Miss Alice Montclair of the famous "Sisters
Montclair." Barring the fact that Miss Montclair had a mouth like
a cave, she wasn't a bad looker. Old K. C. gave what was intended
for a tender, loving look, and asked her if he could call her
Alice; then without waiting for an answer, passed into a Rip Van
Winkle that looked good for a hundred years.

We told the lady it was up to her, and she said she would take a
Brandy and soda. Brandy and soda being fifty a throw and beer five
a copy, we told her to behave, and ordered the waiter to back her up
a tub of suds, Texas size. I noticed Miss Montclair's handkerchief
was marked "Mary Burke." Probably some mistake on the part of the
laundry. Careless laundry! Alice told us what lovely people her
folks were; she said her father was mayor of his town, and if we
only knew her real name it would surprise us all. Johnny Black
started to guess it, but was interrupted by having to settle for
the last round His Chickens had ordered. It seems His Chickens