"You had a cold ride, no doubt, in that low car," she went on, to
Montague. "What made you late?"

"We had some delays," he answered. "Once we thought we were
arrested."

"Arrested!" she exclaimed; and others took up the word, crying, "Oh,
Ollie! tell us about it!"

Oliver told the tale, and meantime his brother had a chance to look
about him. All of the party were young--he judged that he was the
oldest person there. They were not of the flashily dressed sort, but
no one would have had to look twice to know that there was money in
the crowd. They had had their first round of drinks, and started in
to enjoy themselves. They were all intimates, calling each other by
their first names. Montague noticed that these names always ended in
"ie,"--there was Robbie and Freddie and Auggie and Clarrie and
Bertie and Chappie; if their names could not be made to end
properly, they had nicknames instead.

"Ollie" told how they had distanced the policeman; and Clarrie Mason
(one of the younger sons of the once mighty railroad king) told of a
similar feat which his car had performed. And then the young lady
who sat beside him told how a fat Irish woman had skipped out of
their way as they rounded a corner, and stood and cursed them from
the vantage-point of the sidewalk.

The waiter came with the liquor, and Montague thanked his neighbour,
Miss Price. Anabel Price was her name, and they called her "Billy";
she was a tall and splendidly formed creature, and he learned in due