"Say, do you think I'm in business for my health? I haven't that much use--" she snapped her fingers--"for a fiddler anyhow. It's not a man's job. That's what I think of long-haired guys like--Beat it! I'm busy." With head erect the little violinist turned away. He was half way to the door when she called out to him. "Hey! Come back here! Now, see here, you little squirt, you needn't go turning up your nose at me and acting like that. I've got the goods on you and a lot more of those rummies up there. I looked 'em over the other night and I said to myself, says I: 'Gee whiz, couldn't I start something if I let out what I know about this gang!' Talk about earthquakes! They'd--Here! What are you doing? Get out from behind this counter! I'll call a cop if you--" The pallid, impassioned face of Prince Waldemar de Bosky was close to hers; his dark eyes were blazing not a foot from her nose. "If I thought you were that kind of a snake I'd kill you," he said quietly, levelly. "Are--are you threatening me?" sputtered Mrs. Jacobs, trying in vain to look away from those compelling eyes. She could not believe her senses. "No. I am merely telling you what I would do if you were that kind of a snake." "See here, don't you get gay! Don't you forget who you are addressing, young man. I am--" "I am addressing a second-hand junk dealer, madam. You are at home now, not sitting in the big chair up at--at--you know where. Please bear that in mind." "I'll call some one from out front and have you chucked into--" "Do you even _think_ of violating the confidence we repose in you?" he demanded. "The thought must have been in your mind or you would not have uttered that remark a moment ago. You are one of us, and we've treated you as a--a queen. I want to know just where you stand, Mrs. Jacobs." "You can't come in here and bawl me out like this, you little shrimp! I'll--" "Keep still! Now, listen to me. If I should go to our friends and repeat what you have just said, you would never see the inside of that room again. You would never have the opportunity to exchange a word with a single person you have met there. You would be stripped of the last vestige of glory that clings to you. Oh, you may sneer! But down in your heart you love that bit of glory,--and you would curse yourself if you lost it." "It's--it's all poppy-cock, the whole silly business," she blurted out. But it was not anger that caused her voice to tremble. "You know better than that," said he, coldly. "I don't care a rap about all that foolishness up there. It makes me sick," she muttered.