"Some doll!" admiringly commented Armistead, the third member of the group. Armistead had once been famed in vaudeville for dancing, but the drug habit had destroyed his endurance, and with it his career. "She's a perfect thirty-six, all right. She could rip a lot of coin loose if she tried."
At this moment Mr. Melcher, freshly perfumed and talcumed, entered the room. His white hair was arranged with scrupulous nicety; his pink face, as unwrinkled as his immaculate attire, was beaming with good humor.
"Well, boys, I'm the pay-car," he smiled.
"Hammon came through, eh?" Sullivan inquired, eagerly.
"Not exactly; we compromised. Quick sales and small profits; that's business."
"How strong did he go?" queried Armistead.
"Now, what's the difference, so long as you get yours? Photography is a paying business." Melcher laughed agreeably.
"Sure! I'll bet Sarony is rich." Young Sullivan carelessly accepted the roll of currency which Melcher tossed him, and the others did likewise.
"I suppose that's curtain for us," Jim said, regretfully.
"It is. The rest is Lilas's affair."