‘How is this? Proo-den-ss. "Thus," replied the prize-fighter. "To-night, your ladyship?" ventured an elderly domestic. He reappeared in street clothes, his cropped hair not even damp from the shower, fresh-faced and sweetsmelling. It may be, it probably will all come to, nothing. For a time she promenaded the room. ‘Bête. Neither of them believed me. But leave me here in my home, child, I will disintegrate if I am exposed. " "Poor soul!" ejaculated her son. He was all alone, too. That is quite as far as I mean to tempt Providence to-night. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury.
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