craved. I couldn't hope to be the best, so he made me the worst.
He began by tying a can to the 'Agnes Smith,' and handed me
'Adoree Demorest' instead; then he went to work. He really did
work, too, although it nearly killed him, and he's never done
anything since. I forgot to mention that I signed a contract with
him which lawyers tell me is the finest example of air-tight,
time, weather, and water proof construction that has been seen
since the Declaration of Independence. It fits closer than a
rubber shirt, always retains its shape, lasts longer than old age,
and--no metal can touch you. The King fable is a joke on the other
side, but New York swallowed it clear up to the sinker, and Aubrey
gaffed the Palace Garden management for a three years' contract.
Of course, my advertised salary is phony, just like the rubies and
the wrecked throne and that gilded bandwagon with the poodles and
the stuffed supers on the box. Aubrey owns them all except the
rubies, which he rents. I'm billed as the most notorious woman in
America, and the shred of reputation I have left wouldn't make a
neck-tie for a gnat, whereas in reality I love marshmallows and
tea much more than men. But I'm a star, at the head of my own
company, and playing to sidewalk prices. Do you think it was a
good bargain?"

Lorelei had listened with breathless interest. Now she burst out
impulsively:

"You poor dear."

Miss Smith smiled, but her eyes were tragic.

"Sometimes I cry when I think about it. I--cry a good deal," said