On the instant, in a flash, quicker than thought, without one word of apology or glance of farewell, the Illuminat of Illinois shot from the side of his Soul Mate, straight into that yawning doorway and was swallowed up in a sudden, blinding glare of light.
CHAPTER X.
A PRIVATE EXHIBIT.
“Oh, Bill! Bill! Bill! What have you done?”—and a woman’s wild scream rent the atmosphere.
And no wonder our heroine, standing there in the doorway, was upset. No wonder she clutched at her pompadour in frenzy. No wonder she shook like several leaves. The suddenness of her admirer’s departure was so very—in fact—sudden.
After she had shrieked she leaned against the door-jamb, gazing incoherently at that which she saw.
It was now Bill’s turn to laugh, and this he did, long, loud and uproariously. Then he shouted in a triumphant crescendo,—“Hi, there, my lady—catch onto the display. And well you may squeal at the sight of your old familiar pig-wheel. Dollars to doughnuts you never shackled as slim a one as this at the yard. Say, watch him. He’s in the swim sure, ain’t he? See him swing—round toward the sticker. That’s me. D’ye hear, madam? I’m the sticker in this yard. And he’s coming to the knife in fine style. Now watch me close, for he’s going to land against the point this time, and then—Aha! ha! ha!—and then—the last hot water plunge, and—”
“Monster! monster!” sobbed the lady.