"Ain't things just simply terrible? Honest, I said to Roody, when I picked up the paper this morning, it gives me the blues before I open it." "Nobody can tell me that this country is going to sit back much longer and see autocracy grind its heel into the face of the world." "You're right, Feist! I think if there is one thing worse than being too proud to fight, it is not being proud enough to fight." "Lester Spencer, if you don't stop making eyes!" "Mr. Pelz, every time I drink to your daughter only with my eyes she slaps me on the wrist. You put in a good word for me." "Little more of that ice-cream, Feist?" "Thanks, Pelz; no." "You, Lester?" "Don't care if I do, Miss Bleema Butterfly." Mr. Pelz flashed out a watch. "Don't want to hurry you, Spencer, but if you have to catch that ten-o'clock train, by the time you get back and change clothes--" "You're right, Mr. Pelz; I'd better be getting on." Miss Pelz danced to her feet. "Mamma and papa will excuse us, Lester, if we leave before coffee. Come; I'll shoot you to the club." "Why, Bleema! George will bring the limousine around and--" "I promised! Didn't I promise you, Lester, that if you came up to dinner I'd drive you back to the club myself?" "She sure did, Mrs. Pelz." "Bleema, you stay right here and finish your supper. There's two chauffeurs on the place to drive Spencer around to his club." "But, dad, I promised." "Why, Bleema, ain't you ashamed? Mr. Feist here for dinner and you to run off like that. Shame on you!" "Oh, that's all right, Mrs. Pelz. I'll stay around and be entertained by you and Mr.--" "I'll be back in twenty minutes, moms. Surely you'll excuse me that long! I want to drive him down in my new runabout. I promised. Please, moms! Dad?" "Ask your papa, Bleema; I--I don't know--" "Dad?" "You heard what I said, Bleema. No!" A quick film of tears formed over Miss Pelz's eyes, her lips quivering. "Oh, well--if--if you're going to be that mean--oh, you make me so mad--. Come on, Lester--I--I guess I can take you as far as the front door without the whole world jumping on me. Oh--oh--you make me so mad!" And pranced out on slim feet of high dudgeon. "Poor child!" said Mrs. Pelz, stirring into her coffee. "She's so high strung." "She's got to quit wasting her time on that conceited jackass," said Mr. Pelz, swallowing off his demi-tasse at a gulp. "Won't have it!" "It makes her papa mad the way the boys just kill themselves over that girl," said Mrs. Pelz, arch of glance toward Mr. Feist, who was stirring also, his eyes lowered. "Me, too," he said, softly. "Jealous!" flashed Mrs. Pelz. After an interval, and only upon despatching a servant, Miss Pelz returned, the tears frank streaks now down her cheeks. "Sit down, baby, and drink your coffee." "Don't want any." "Williams, bring Miss Bleema some hot coffee." "I'm finished, mother--please!"