“There's nothing in that disfranchisement thing, anyhow,” grumbled the Humble Dutchman, who sat sourly listening. “I've been up th' river twict, an' I've voted a dozen times every election since. Them law-makin' stiffs is goin' to take your vote away! Say, that gives me a pain!” The Humble Dutchman got off the last in tones of supreme contempt. Grouped around a table near the center, and under convoy of a Central Office representative who performed towards them in the triple rôle of guide, philosopher and friend, were gathered a half dozen Fifth Avenue males and females, all members in good standing of the Purple and Fine Linen Gang. Auggy, in the absence of Tricker, had received them graciously, pressed cigars and drinks upon them, declining the while their proffered money of the realm in a manner composite of suavity and princely ease. “It's an honor, loides an' gents,” said Auggy, “merely to see your maps in the Stag at all. As for th' booze an' smokes, they're on th' house. Your dough don't go here, see!” The Purple and Fine Linen contingent called their visit slumming. If they could have heard what Auggy, despite his beaming smiles and royal liberality touching those refreshments, called both them and their visit, after they had left, it might have set their patrician ears afire. Having done the Stag, and seen and heard and misunderstood things to their slumming souls' content, the Purple and Fine Linen Gang said goodbye. They must drop in--they explained--at the Haymarket, just around the corner in Sixth Avenue. Auggy invited them to come again, but was visibly relieved once they had gone their slumming way. “I was afraid every minute some duck'd start something,” said Auggy, “an' of course if anything did break loose--any little t'ing, if it ain't no more than soakin' some dub in th' jaw--one of them Fift' Avenoo dames's 'ud be bound to t'row a fit.” “Say!” broke in Anna Gold resentfully; “it's somethin' fierce th' way them high s'ciety fairies comes buttin' in on us. W'at do they think they're tryin' to give us, anyway? For th' price of a beer, I'd have snatched one of them baby-dolls baldheaded. I'd have nailed her be th' mop; an' w'en I'd got t'rough doin' stunts wit' her, she wouldn't have had to tell no one she'd been slummin'.” “Now, forget it!” interposed Auggy warningly. “You go reachin' for any skirt's puffs round here, an' it'll be the hurry-up wagon at a gallop an' you for the cooler, Anna. The Stag's a quiet joint, an' that rough-house stuff don't go. Chick won't stand for no one to get hoited.” “Oh, Chick won't stand for no one to get hoited!” retorted the acrid Anna, in mighty dudgeon. “An' the Stag's a quiet joint! Why, it ain't six weeks since a guy pulls a cannister in this very room, an' shoots Joe Rocks full of holes. You helps take him to the hospital yourself.” “Cut out that Joe Rocks stuff,” commanded Aug-gy, with vast heat, “or you'll hit the street on your frizzes--don't make no mistake!”