"It is a hint though," the hostess said, filling his glass.
"A hint!" he repeated.
"Yes; a hint that it is getting late, and that I am tired, and you must go home."
"Oh, ho!" he laughed uproariously; "now I won't let you in for that good thing on the Princeton Platinum stock. You'll wish you hadn't turned me out of the house when you see that stock quoted at fifty per cent above par."
"Ah, I know all about Princeton Platinum," she responded, showing her white teeth rather more than was absolutely demanded by the occasion; "besides, I've no money to put into anything."
"What about Princeton Platinum?" Greenfield asked, turning toward the other a shrewd glance. "I've heard a good deal of talk about it lately, but I didn't pay much attention to it."
"Princeton Platinum," the hostess put in before Snaffle could speak, "is Mr. Snaffle's latest fairy story. It is a dream that people buy pieces of for good hard samoleons, and"—
"Good what?" interrupted the country member.
"Shekels, dollars, for cash under whatever name you choose to give it; and then some fine morning they all wake up."
"Well?" demanded Snaffle, to whom the jest seemed not in the least distasteful. "And what then?"