“You accepted the gentleman's proposition, I take it.” “I dislike murders.” Hy, considering this, stiffened up. “Say,” he cried, “what's the paper going to do about it?” “I saw the assistant city editor this evening at the Parisian bar. He tells me they have decided to drop the story. But they dropped me first.” He looked shrewdly at Hy. “So don't worry. You can count on your raise.” Hy's cigarette had gone out. He looked at it, tossed it out the window, lit a fresh one. “Of course,” said he, “a fellow likes to know where he gets off.” “Or at least that he is off,” said the Worm, and went to bed. Hy let him go. A dreamy expression came into his eyes. As he threw off coat and waistcoat and started unbuttoning his collar, he hummed softly: "I want si-_imp_-athee, Si-_imp_-athee, just _symp_-ah-thee." He embraced an imaginary young woman--a blonde who was slow of speech and luxurious in movements--and danced slowly, rather gracefully across the room. All was right with the world! CHAPTER XXVI--ENTER MARIA TONIFETTI |THOUGH there is no known specific for heartache, there are palliatives. One such Peter Ericson Mann found in the head barber's chair at the strictly sanitary shop of Manus. The necessity, during all the spring months, of avoiding this shop had irked Peter; for he was given to worry in the matter of bacteria. And he could not himself shave his thin and tender skin without irritating it to the point of eruption. The shop of Marius was in the basement of that most interesting of New York restaurants, the Parisian. The place is wholly French, from the large trees out front and in their shade the sleepy victorias always waiting at the curb to the Looeys and Sharlses and Gastongs that serve you within. It is there a distinction to be known of the maître d'hôtel, an achievement to nod to the proprietor.