"Switch on the lights over in that corner," Mr. Gilfeather ordered, "and let's see how she looks." Joe stopped wiping his glasses long enough to turn to a row of buttons. "That's good. Put 'em all on." Joe put 'em all on. "That's better. Now," turning to wave his hand upward over the bar, "light her up." At his command there appeared on the wall over the bar, a large painting of a lady clad chiefly in a leopard skin and luxuriant golden hair and a charming smile. The lady was made visible by electric lights, screened and carefully disposed, and seemed to diffuse her presence impartially over the room. Unfortunately, there was nobody to admire but Mr. Gilfeather and Joe, the barkeeper, and there is some doubt about Joe's admiration; but she did not seem to mind and she continued to smile. As they looked, the outer door opened silently and closed again. Mr. Gilfeather and Joe, warned by the sudden draught, turned. "Hello, Ev," said Mr. Gilfeather. "What do you think of it?" He waved his hand inclusively. "Just got 'em." Everett inspected the palms and ferns solemnly. "Very pretty. Very good. It seems to be good, strong paper and well varnished. I don't see any imitation rubber plants. Where are your rubber plants?" "Eh?" asked Mr. Gilfeather, puzzled. "Don't you like it? They could have furnished rubber plants, I s'pose. Think I ought to have 'em?" "Nothing of the kind is complete without rubber plants," Everett replied seriously. Mr. Gilfeather looked at him doubtfully. "Don't you like 'em, Ev?" he asked. It was almost a challenge. Mr. Gilfeather was nettled and inclined to be hostile. If Everett was making fun of him--well, he had better look out. "It's hardly up to your standard, Tom," he answered. He indicated the lady in the leopard skin--and in her own--who still smiled sweetly down at them. "After I have gone to the trouble of selecting paintings for you, it--er--would be natural to expect that you would consult me before adding a lot of cheap paper flowers to your decorations. I should have been happy to advise you." "Nothing cheap about 'em," growled Mr. Gilfeather. "Had to have something in here." "What's the matter with real palms and ferns?" "What would they cost, I should like to know? And how would I keep 'em looking decent? Look at them bay trees out there." "Those bay trees do look a little dejected," Everett agreed, smiling. "I should employ a good gardener to care for them and for your real palms and ferns. Our gardener, I am sure, could--" "I don't s'pose your gardener'd do it for me now, would he?" Everett smiled again. "Hardly. But he's not the only one in town. It might cost more, Tom, but it would pay, believe me. Your bar, now, is the real thing and in good taste. You ought to have things in keeping." Mr. Gilfeather emitted a growl and looked almost as dejected as his bay trees. Everett laughed and moved toward a door beside the bar. "Anybody up there yet, Tom?" he asked.