"Well, I'll be singed!" says I. "The Morans!"
"Of London and Paris," adds Millie.
"Show him, Tim," says she. At which Timothy extracts from the inside of his silk tile a billboard poster announcing the comin', for a limited engagement only, of those European tango wizards, Mons. and Mlle. Moran.
"I cabled our agents we wouldn't sail until we'd seen a sample of the paper," says Millie.
"Gee!" says I. "You must have got next!"
"Did we?" says Millie. "My word! Why, when we hit London the craze was just striking in over there. We was among the advance guard. Say, we hadn't been over ten days before we headed the bill at the Alcazar as the famous New York tango artists. Inside of two weeks more we were doing three turns a night, with all kinds of private dates on the side. Say, would you believe it? I've danced with a real Duke! And Tim—why if it hadn't been for me on the spot there'd been no telling what would have happened. Those English society women are the limit. Then Paris. Ah, ma chère Paris! Say, I'm a bear for Paris. Didn't we soak the price on when that Moulin Rouge guy came after us, though? Ma foi! Say, he used to weep when be paid me the money. 'Mon Dieu! Five hundred francs for so small a danse!' But he paid. Trust Millie Moran! Say, I collected a few glad rags over there too. What about this one?"
"It don't need any Paris label," says I. "Don't see how you got upstairs in it, though."
"I can do a cartwheel in it," says she. "We've learned to handle ourselves some, Tim and I. And now I guess I'll take him out of hock. You'll find two hundred gold in the package."
"Thanks," says I, openin' the long envelope. "But what's this other?"