“What’s all this nonsense about the Red Flag Club?” he inquired, when they were seated. “Do you and Ilse really propose going to that dirty anarchist joint?”
“How do you know it’s dirty?” demanded Palla, “––or do you mean it’s only morally dingy?”
Both she and Ilse appeared to be in unusually lively spirits, and they poked fun at him when he objected to their attending the meeting in question.
“Very well,” he said, “but there may be a free fight. There was a row on Fifth Avenue this evening, where some of those rats were parading with red flags.”
Palla laughed and cast a demure glance at Ilse.
“What is there to laugh at?” demanded Jim. “There was a small riot on Fifth Avenue! I met several men at the club who witnessed it.”
The sea-blue eyes of Ilse were full of mischief. He was aware of Palla’s subtle exhilaration, too.
“Why hunt for a free fight?” he asked.
“Why avoid one if it’s free?” retorted Ilse, gaily.