"Do you mean that?" said Nick Cluett. The dark face, with its queer stationary smile and its eyes full of a warming light, came close to hers. Daisy waited dimpling till the rough cheek, bluish with its day's growth of stiff hair-stubble, almost touched her ear. Then, exploding into light quick action, she cast away the encircling arm and hopped to her feet. "I'm going to help get the supper," she said; and, before Nick Cluett could stop her, whisked to the dining-room door and flung it open. "What's bust loose?" said Miss Yockley, who was making coffee. "Frisky little thing, you!" observed Mr. Masterman, rolling up his sporting paper, and playfully threatening Daisy with it. "Turn off the gas, Bob," commanded Miss Stella, "and don't have so much to say. Come along, Nicky. Supper's on." Mr. Cluett strolled in, and the four drew up chairs. There were three roast chickens, hot, carved up into handy "drumsticks" and slices by Mr. Masterman; "French fried" potatoes; a cut-glass dish of peach preserve; fruit cake; bakers' rolls; and an electric percolator filled with savory coffee. "Some little lay-out," observed Mr. Cluett, who was hungry after his evening's "work-out". He stepped into the chair next Daisy's by tilting it and swinging his leg over the back to the seat. "Yes: Bob done well, for once," said Miss Stella, "gener'ly, when he's ordering a supper, the only thing he can think of is 'poached on' and raisin pie." "What have we got to drink, Stel'?" demanded Mr. Masterman, hitching his cuffs as he prepared to serve the chicken. "Coffee," returned Miss Yockley, winking at Nick Cluett and Daisy; "we're gettin' ready for when the country goes dry." "Well," said Mr. Masterman, who had paused aghast, but had recommenced to breathe freely as he had intercepted the speaker's wink; "I guess I can stand it as long as Stella can, anyway--and that ain't very long." "You bet it ain't," admitted Miss Stella, going to the buffet and bringing back three bottles of champagne; "See what the milkman left us for the baby, this morning." "Let it out, then, let it out!" said Bob Masterman, laying down his carving-fork and setting out glasses; "I'm as dry as the night before, boys." Under Miss Yockley's deft offices, a cork popped promptly, and four glasses were filled in as many seconds. "I guess we can let Nick off the water-wagon for to-night," said Mr. Masterman, "while we drink confusion to the Masked Man. But what's wrong with Prettiness here? Swore off?" This to Daisy, who had made no movement to lift her glass. Daisy merely dimpled and shook her head. "Somebody say something," interpolated Miss Stella; "Come on, Kid--if you knew the pain Bob's in, you wouldn't keep him waiting. Do you want some water in it--or what?" "Water in it!" ejaculated Mr. Masterman, "Help!... 'Water in it?' she says, as though she meant it." Nick Cluett, who, glass in hand, had been regarding Daisy narrowly, spoke out.