Jim, with an expressionless face, turned to speak to Lilas Lynn,
who had just come in. When his sister came down after the last
act, he was waiting at the door and helped her into a cab, despite
her protestations that she would much prefer to walk.

"What are you going to do with all the coin you save? Slip it to
the shoemakers?" he laughed. "I don't go out often; you'd better
spring me good."

As they seated themselves in the main room at Proctor's he
appraised her with admiring eyes. "You're the candy, Sis. There's
class to that lay-out."

"It's part of the game to look well in public, but I'd have
enjoyed myself more if we had gone to Billy the Oysterman's and
dressed the part." She surveyed the gaudy dining-room with its
towering marble columns, its tremendous crystal festoons showering
a brilliant but becoming light upon the throngs below, then nodded
here and there to casual greetings.

Proctor's was a show-place, built upon the site of a former resort
the fame of which had been nation-wide; but the crowds that
frequented it now were of a different type to those that had
gathered in "the old Proctor's." Nowadays the customers were
largely visitors to the city in whom the spirit of Bohemianism was
entirely lacking. The new resort was too splendid for the old-time
atmosphere. Magnificent panels done by a gifted artist were set
into the walls and distant ceiling; an elaborate marble stairway
rose from the street-level to the hall itself, but instead of
extending an air of cheerful welcome it seemed to yawn hungrily