"Sure; but Max is in politics for the protection it gives him in his other lines of business. His gambling-house is as safe as a church. There's big money in this banker-hunting, too. Did you read about the two old guys at the King William Hotel last month? Well, Max laid 'em against two squabs, friends of Tony's. He got the girls into the hotel, paid their bills, and all that. They've cleaned up about twenty thousand so far. Of course, Lorelei won't stand for anything like that, so we've got to marry her, I suppose." "Just the same, I'm frightened--and this isn't honest. I wish she would listen to Robert Wharton." James winked meaningly. "Leave that to me. She's going to Proctor's with me to-night. Maybe he'll join us. But meanwhile we've got Merkle for some quick money if we work him right. I'm off for Goldy's office now. I'll meet you at three." When Jim reappeared, dressed for the street, he gave a bit of parting advice: "Better lay on the hysterics when she wakes up. It'll make it easier for me to-night." Lorelei found her mother visibly upset by the story in the morning's newspaper. "You told me you only went to supper with that man," Mrs. Knight cried, tragically. "Instead of that you two were off in the country together all night. Here's the whole thing." She brandished the paper dramatically. "Well, I told you a fib. But there's no harm done." "Harm, indeed? You're ruined. I never read anything more disgraceful; I daren't show it to Peter--it would kill him. What EVER possessed you, after the way we've watched over you, after the care we've taken of you? It's terrible." "Please don't carry on so. It was too bad, of course, but--I'll live through it." The shock of this callous assertion seemed to rob Mrs. Knight of speech; she stared at her daughter in grief and amazement. "Mr. Merkle is a gentleman," Lorelei defended. "He'll regret this publicity as much as I." "The wretch! I'll teach him to spoil an innocent girl's career and drag her name in the mud." Mrs. Knight glared balefully. "You'll do nothing of the sort," said her daughter, sharply. "He--ought to marry you." "Why, mother! You're more insulting than that newspaper. The career of a show-girl is something of a joke." Lorelei undertook to laugh, but the attempt failed rather dismally.