"Exactly," answered Bobbie, "and I want the chauffeur to have all his juice on--the engine cranked and ready for another Vanderbilt Cup Race." Bobbie gave the waiter one of his best smiles--behind that smile was a manful look, a kindliness of character and a great power of purpose, which rang true, even to this blase and cynical dispenser of the grape. The latter nodded and smiled, albeit flabbily, into the winsome eyes of the young officer. "Ye're a reg'lar fellar, Mr. Green, I kin see that! Trust me to have a lightning conductor fer you--with his lamps lit and burning. These nighthawk taxis around here make most of their mazuma by this fly stuff--generally the souses ain't got enough left for a taxicab, and it's a waste o' time stickin' 'em up since the rubes are so easy with the taxi meter. But just look out for a little badger work on the chauffeur when ye git through with 'im." Burke nodded. Then he added. "Just keep this to yourself, won't you? There's nothing crooked about it--I'm trying to do some one a good turn. Tell them to keep the taxi ready, no matter how long it takes." "Sure and I will, Mr. Green." The waiter walked away toward the front door, where he carried out Burke's instructions, slipping the second bill into the willing hand of the starter. As he came back he shrewdly studied the face of the young policeman who was quietly listening to the furious fusillade of the ragtime musicians. "Well, that guy's not as green as he says his name is. He don't look like no crook, neither! I wonder what his stall is? Well, _I_ should worry!" And he went his way rejoicing in the possession of that peace of mind which comes to some men who let neither the joys nor woes of others break through the armament of their own comfortable placidity. Every night of his life was crowded with curious, sad and ridiculous incidents; had he let them linger long in his mind his hand and temperament would have suffered a loss of accumulative skill. That would have spelled ruin, and this particular waiter, like so many of his flabby-faced brothers, was a shrewd tradesman--in the commodities of his discreetly elastic memory--and the even more valuable asset, a talent for forgetting! Burke was biding his time, and watching developments. He saw the mealy-faced Baxter take Lorna out upon the dancing floor for the next dance. They swung into the rhythm of the dance with easy familiarity, which proved that the girl was no novice in this style of terpsichorean enjoyment. "She has been to other dances like this," muttered Bobbie as he watched with a strange loathing in his heart. "It's terrible to see the girls of a great modern city like New York entering publicly into a dance which I used to see on the Barbary Coast in 'Frisco. If they had seen it danced out there I don't believe they'd be so anxious to imitate it now." Lorna and Baxter returned through the crowded merrymakers to their seats, and sat down at the table.