"Of course you do." Mr. Trimmer gave him a congratulatory slap on the knee. "And if you think hard, probably you can recall my neat little stunt of the prima donna and the cough drops. I want to tell you about that--" He spoke with fervor. The story of his brave deeds rose high to shatter the stars apart. A half-hour passed while his picturesque reminiscences flowed on. Mr. Minot sat enraptured--his eyes on the harbor where the _Lileth_, like a painted ship, graced a painted ocean. "My boy," Trimmer was saying, "I have made the public stop, look and listen. When I get my last publicity in the shape of an 'In Memoriam' let them run that tag on my headstone. And the story of me that I guess will be told longest after I am gone, is the one about the grape juice that I--" He paused. His audience was not listening; he felt it intuitively. Mr. Minot sat with his eyes on the _Lileth_. In the bow of that handsome boat a red light had been waved three times. "Mr. Trimmer," Minot said, "your tales are more interesting than the classics." He stood. "Some other time I hope to hear a continuation of them. Just at present Lord Harrowby--or Mr. if you prefer--is waiting to hear what arrangement I have made with you. You must pardon me." "I can talk as we walk along," said Trimmer, and proved it. In the middle of the deserted plaza they separated. At the dark stage door of the opera-house Trimmer sought his proposition. "Who d'yer mean?" asked the lone stage-hand there. "George, Lord Harrowby," insisted Mr. Trimmer. "Oh--that bum actor. Seen him going away a while back with two men that called for him." "Bum actor!" cried Trimmer indignantly. He stopped. "Two men--who were they?" The stage-hand asked profanely how he could know that, and Mr. Trimmer hurriedly departed for the side-street boarding-house where he and his fallen nobleman shared a suite. About the same time Dick Minot blithely entered Lord Harrowby's apartments in the Hotel de la Pax. "Well," he announced, "you can cheer up. Little George is painlessly removed. He sleeps to-night aboard the good ship _Lileth_, thanks to the efforts of Martin Wall, assisted by yours truly." He stopped, and stared in awe at his lordship. "What's the matter with you?" he inquired. Harrowby waved a hopeless hand. "Minot," he said, "it was good of you. But while you have been assisting me so kindly in that quarter, another--and a greater--blow has fallen." "Good lord--what?" cried Minot. "It is no fault of mine--" Harrowby began. "On which I would have gambled my immortal soul," Minot said. "I thought it was all over and done with--five years ago. I was young--sentimental--calcium-light and grease paint and that sort of thing hit me-hard. I saw her from the stalls--fell desperately in love--stayed so for six months--wrote letters--burning letters--and now--" "Yes--and now?" "Now she's here. Gabrielle Rose is here. She's here--with the letters."