“When you can’t cajole you threaten. It won’t pay, sir.”
“I’ll see that it does pay!” laughed the mixer of the Trocadero, unabashed. “I know my business. Sit down.”
Margie was thrust back into her chair, and the fellow leered at her again.
“If you don’t want to milk the young sport himself, bleed the old man. He’s a bird with golden plumage.”
“What’s his name?”
“Gad, don’t you know? It’s Perry Lamont. Lives on one of the avenues and has mints of wealth at his command. He’s a pigeon worth plucking, girl.”
“No, let others do that.”
“Where did you get your scruples, I’d like to know?” sneered Caddy. “You’re one in ten thousand. Why, you can feather your nest in fine shape——”
Margie broke loose from the fellow’s grasp and fell back.
He arose at the same time and came around the table.