Every time a waiter looked over at out table Bud's roll would blaze up. Clara Jane concluded she'd broaden out a bit on Art and the Old Masters so she asked Ikey if he liked Rembrandt. Ikey looked at her out of the corner of one eye and said, "Much 'bliged, but I'm up to here now!" Then he went to sleep. Bud was beginning to see double. Every once in a while he'd stop trying to whistle "Sallie, My Hot Tamale," and he'd look over at Clara Jane and hand her a sad, sad smile. Then he'd press money in the waiter's hand and wait for his music cue. Clara Jane had about decided that Bohemia was away up stage, but I wouldn't let go. I wanted her to get the lesson of her life, and that's where my finish began to get busy. Tom Barclay waltzed into the subway, saw me and in a minute he was making the break of his life. "Why, hello, John Henry!" said Tom, "say, I saw her to-day--and she's immense! You've got a great eye, old man!" I tossed off a few wicked winks on that great eye of mine but Tom went right along to the funeral. "Lizzie B. is a peach, John Henry! You've got the eye for the good girls, all right, all right!" he chortled. Clara Jane began to freeze. I felt like a boiled potato in the hands of an Irish policeman. "She's every bit to the good, old man!" Tom turned it on again; "she makes all the other birds chatter in the cage. And her feet--did you ever see such feet?" I looked at Clara Jane's face, but there was no light in the window for me. "You certainly picked out a warm proposition when you put your arms around Lizzie B. and I'm your friend for life for hauling me up in the chariot with you--what'll you have?" croaked Tom. "Thirty-two bars rest," I whispered hoarsely; "cut it all out!" "Cut out nothing!" said the prize idiot; "We'll drink to Lizzie B. What'll your lady friend have?" When Clara Jane arose she was a mass of icicles. "Mr. John Henry! will you have the kindness to escort me to a car?" she said, giving me the glittering gig-lamps, "then you may return and discuss your affairs of the heart at your leisure." "Stung!" said Bud, bringing his hand down on the table so vigorously that Ikey woke up and ordered another high-ball. Me--to the Badlands! It took me three mortal hours to convince her that Tom _was only talking about a horse_. Hereafter when Clara Jane yearns for something swift I'll take her down and let her watch the trolley cars go by. JOHN HENRY AND THE HOTEL CLERK. Kee Barclay, Jim Wilkinson and I were leaning over the counter talking to His Nobs, the Hotel Clerk, when Dan the Dyspeptic squeezed up and began to let a peep out of him about the pie he had eaten for dinner. "Calm yourself!" said Smiling Steve, "and tell me where it bit you." Steve has been throwing keys at the wall for some time, and he knows how to burn the beefers. "Bit me! bit me!" snarled the old chap; "nothing of the kind, sir! I want you to know, sir, that your pie isn't fit to eat, sir!"