Lorelei lifted a tragic, tear-stained face. "I ought to be
hanged," she said.

Jim laughed with relief. "There's gratitude for you! If I had your
share of the Wharton coin I'd let 'em hang ME--for a while."

"There, there!" Mrs. Knight chided her daughter. "You're worn out,
and no wonder; but everything is lovely. I'm dying to meet
Robert's mother, now that we have so much in common. I'm sure I'll
like her, although I can't see what pleasure she can get from
GIVING away money. Why, she's simply robbing Bob's family when she
throws her thousands to charity, and I intend to tell her so, too,
in a nice way, the first chance I get. Of course, you'll quit the
Revue to-night. That'll be a relief, won't it? Has Robert given
you anything yet? They say he's terribly generous."

"I can't quit right away, now that Lilas has left. But I dare say
Bob won't let me work very long."

"Indeed! I should hope not." Mrs. Knight's chin lifted. "If I were
you I'd never go near Bergman's theater again. Let him sue you."

Jim eyed his sister admiringly. "You're a dandy crier, Sis," he
observed. "Your nose doesn't swell and your eyes don't pop out.
You could sob your way right into the Wharton family if you
tried." He lit a cigar, sighed gratefully, and, dragon-like,
emitted twin columns of smoke from his nostrils. "Hannibal Wharton
is worth twenty millions easy," he went on, complacently; "maybe
forty. We didn't do so badly--for country yaps--did we? It feels
mighty good to be in the kale-patch. No more small change for