"Well, boys, I'm the pay-car," he smiled. "Hammon came through, eh?" Sullivan inquired, eagerly. "Not exactly; we compromised. Quick sales and small profits; that's business." "How strong did he go?" queried Armistead. "Now, what's the difference, so long as you get yours? Photography is a paying business." Melcher laughed agreeably. "Sure! I'll bet Sarony is rich." Young Sullivan carelessly accepted the roll of currency which Melcher tossed him, and the others did likewise. "I suppose that's curtain for us," Jim said, regretfully. "It is. The rest is Lilas's affair." "Say, will the old man fall AGAIN?" queried Armistead. "He's going to marry her!" The three others stared at him in amazement. "Right!" confirmed Melcher. "She's got a strangle hold on him." "Hm-m! Maybe we haven't lost the last car yet," Sullivan ventured. Jim seconded the thought. "She's got an ace buried somewhere. There's a lot more in her head than hair-pins. I wish Merkle would marry my sister." "Not a chance," Melcher declared. "You'll be lucky to shake him down for a few thousand. How about Wharton? Will she stand for him?" Jim frowned, and his voice was rough as he replied: "I'll MAKE her stand for him--if it's a marry." "He's a lush; if you got him stewed he might go that far. It has been done; but, of course, it's all up to the girl. Anyhow, if he balks at the altar we might get him for something else." "I'm not sure I'll need any help in this." Jim looked up coldly. "If he marries her, that ends it; if we have to frame him, of course I'll split." "How are you going to frame him, with a square dame like Lorelei?" asked Armistead. "Frame both of them," Melcher said, shortly. "By the way, he's a gambler, too, isn't he? Bring him in some night, Jim, and I'll turn for him myself." "Save his cuff-buttons for me," laughed Young Sullivan, idly riffling the cards. "Gee! Money comes easy to some folks. Don't you guys never expect to do any honest work?" CHAPTER X Jim's appearance when he entered the dressing-room that night was a surprise; he was clad in faultless evening attire. "Why the barbaric splendor?" inquired Lorelei. "Don't you know I'm only your sister?" "I've GOT these Moe Levys, so I might as well wear 'em. I'm tired of running a moth-garage," he replied, laying aside his stick, gloves, and hat with a care that betrayed his unfamiliarity with them. "What have you got to go with this scenery?" "Do you want me to dress, too?" "Sure thing. Look your best, and make me think I'm a regular John." "Bergman dropped in to see me to-night," she told him, after they had gossiped for a moment. "He referred to that story in this morning's Despatch." "Yes?" "I don't like the way he talked." "Fresh?" "He's always that, but this time he was something more. He thinks he owns the girls who work for him." Jim replied, carelessly: "Blow him and his job. You can get on at the Palace Garden."