"How very interesting," observed Mr. Hendricks, who occasionally offered some such remark as his contribution to the gaiety of the evening. He had found it to be a perfectly safe shot, even when fired at random. In the meantime, Mr. McFaddan had come to the conclusion that the young man at the next table but one was obnoxious. It isn't exactly the way Mr. McFaddan would have put it, but as he would have put it less elegantly, it is better to supply him with a word out of stock. The dashing young woman upon whom Stuyvesant lavished his bold and significant glances happened to be Mrs. McFaddan, whose scant twelve months as a wife gave her certain privileges and a distinction that properly would have been denied her hearth-loving predecessor who came over from Ireland to marry Con McFaddan when he was promoted to the position of foreman in the works,--and who, true to her estate of muliebrity, produced four of the most exemplary step-children that any second wife could have discovered if she had gone storking over the entire city. Cornelius had married his stenographer. It was not his fault that she happened to be a very pretty young woman, nor could he be held responsible for the fact that he was approximately thirty years of age on the day she was born. Any way you look at it, she was his wife and dependent on him for some measure of protection. And Mr. McFaddan, being an influence, sent for the proprietor of the café himself, and whispered to him. Whereupon, Mr. Spangler, considering the side on which his bread was buttered, whispered back that it should be attended to at once. "And," pursued Mr. McFaddan, purple with suppressed rage, "if you don't, I will." A minute or two later, one of the waiters approached young Mr. Smith-Parvis and informed him that he was wanted outside at once. Stuyvesant's heart leaped. He at once surmised that Miss Emsdale, repentant and envious, had come off her high horse and was eager to get away from the dull, prosaic and stupidly respectable old "parties" over in the corner. Conceivably she had taken a little more champagne than was good for her. He got up immediately, and without so much as a word of apology to his host, made his way eagerly, though unsteadily, to the entrance-hall. He expected Miss Emsdale to follow; he was already framing in his beaddled brain the jolly little lecture he would give her when-- A red-faced person jostled him in a most annoying manner. "Look sharp there," said Stuyvie thickly. "Watch where you're going." "Steady, sir,--steady!" came in a hushed, agitated voice from Mr. Spangler, who appeared to be addressing himself exclusively to the red-faced person. "Let me manage it,--please." "Who the devil is this bally old blighter?" demanded Stuyvie loudly. "Leave him to me, Spangler," said the red-faced man. "I have a few choice words I--" "Here! Confound you! Keep off of my toes, you fool! I say, Spangler, what's the matter with you? Throw him out! He's--"