“See here, young fellow, me lad, cut that!”
“O, cut your throat, you big mooch,” she replied haughtily. “I’m an icicle myself but I know a grand moon when I see one!”
But she wasn’t looking at the moon at all. She was leaning out as far as she could and peering on the balcony below where she thought she had seen a sign of white drapery. But when she looked again it was gone.
Had she only known!
If she had she’d have known it was Lady Speedway stretching her ear to try and find out why a messenger was going at so late an hour to the room of a single girl like Miss Mayonnaise.
But as it was, Verbeena squatted on the balcony rail lighting cigarette after cigarette as she looked out into the market place where the moon and her nostrils told her was the caravan she had engaged from Musty Ale for her wild, mad adventure.
If Butternut had acted differently—but Butternut hadn’t!
Dear little Butternut, sweet little Butternut!
She had his note to prove it conclusively to Lord Tawdry. To-morrow would see her plunging forth into the yellow wilderness, the vast places, the majestic silences, the——