The others poured their glasses about half full, while Mildred poured a part of the fluid in one of the glasses before her. It foamed! She stopped, and when it quit foaming, the glass was only about a third full. She had not observed how much it lacked of being full, when suddenly the room resounded with the music of the electric piano. It took her so much by surprise, that she turned quickly and looked. When she saw that it was only the piano, she turned to them again, as they raised their glasses. She took up hers, at a sign from them. It was full. They all drank together. She had a mighty effort to swallow hers. When she had succeeded, she made a wry face, and tasted the stuff gingerly. She had never drunk coca cola that tasted like that before. The others smiled naively. She felt strange. She raised her hands to her head. It felt stranger still. She wondered at such a strange feeling after a drink of something she was fond of? She had drunk as many as a half dozen bottles a day, and as many as three bottles in an hour. But three bottles had never any effect; while now, her head was whirling terribly. Everything about her swam. She saw the others smiling, and then she heard herself talking and laughing; but she was not aware of what she was saying. It was perhaps an hour later, or it might have been only a half, but she was on the street. She was trying to walk, but apparently she was not succeeding, for the man she had run from was supporting her. He had his arm about her waist; while his free hand held both of hers. She was not talking now. She was resting. Her neck was limp. Presently they turned into another place. She did not know where. Before them raised another flight of stairs, and up this they walked--that is, he did and almost carried her. A full minute it took before they reached the top. An old woman met them. Mildred saw her for a brief moment, and recalled that she resembled the one where she had a room. "My wife is sick," she heard the man say, "is sick. I wish to get a room." "His wife?" she repeated, but that was all. Darkness was all about her now; but the man repeated his words, and at the same time handed the old woman a half dollar. A moment later a door closed behind them, and the next a key turned. But Mildred Latham didn't hear it. The old woman looked after them a moment, as she rubbed the new coin in her palm. She raised it to her lips and kissed it with a smack. She regarded the door of the room in which they had disappeared, and then she burst into a fit of laughing. "My wife--sick--_Hell!_" And went about her duties. CHAPTER TWELVE _Midnight, December Thirty-first_