He bowed slightly, tried to think of a casual remark. “Do you suppose,” she began quickly, “I mean--do you know anything about gum?” “What?” “I’ve got gum on my shoe. Some utter ass left his or her gum on the floor and of course I stepped in it.” Jim blushed, inappropriately. “Do you know how to get it off?” she demanded petulantly. “I’ve tried a knife. I’ve tried every damn thing in the dressing-room. I’ve tried soap and water--and even perfume and I’ve ruined my powder-puff trying to make it stick to that.” Jim considered the question in some agitation. “Why--I think maybe gasolene--” The words had scarcely left his lips when she grasped his hand and pulled him at a run off the low veranda, over a flower bed and at a gallop toward a group of cars parked in the moonlight by the first hole of the golf course. “Turn on the gasolene,” she commanded breathlessly. “What?” “For the gum of course. I’ve got to get it off. I can’t dance with gum on.” Obediently Jim turned to the cars and began inspecting them with a view to obtaining the desired solvent. Had she demanded a cylinder he would have done his best to wrench one out. “Here,” he said after a moment’s search. “Here’s one that’s easy. Got a handkerchief?” “It’s up-stairs wet. I used it for the soap and water.” Jim laboriously explored his pockets. “Don’t believe I got one either.” “Doggone it! Well, we can turn it on and let it run on the ground.” He turned the spout; a dripping began. “More!” He turned it on fuller. The dripping became a flow and formed an oily pool that glistened brightly, reflecting a dozen tremulous moons on its quivering bosom. “Ah,” she sighed contentedly, “let it all out. The only thing to do is to wade in it.” In desperation he turned on the tap full and the pool suddenly widened sending tiny rivers and trickles in all directions. “That’s fine. That’s something like.” Raising her skirts she stepped gracefully in. “I know this’ll take it off,” she murmured. Jim smiled. “There’s lots more cars.” She stepped daintily out of the gasolene and began scraping her slippers, side and bottom, on the running-board of the automobile. The jelly-bean contained himself no longer. He bent double with explosive laughter and after a second she joined in. “You’re here with Clark Darrow, aren’t you?” she asked as they walked back toward the veranda. “Yes.” “You know where he is now?” “Out dancin’, I reckin.” “The deuce. He promised me a highball.” “Well,” said Jim, “I guess that’ll be all right. I got his bottle right here in my pocket.” She smiled at him radiantly. “I guess maybe you’ll need ginger ale though,” he added. “Not me. Just the bottle.” “Sure enough?” She laughed scornfully. “Try me. I can drink anything any man can. Let’s sit down.” She perched herself on the side of a table and he dropped into one of the wicker chairs beside her. Taking out the cork she held the flask to her lips and took a long drink. He watched her fascinated.