She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day. “Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. Halloa, Ben!" cried he, shaking a broad-backed fellow, equipped in a short-skirted doublet, and having a badge upon his arm,—"scullers wanted. "Every inch of it," replied the woollen-draper. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. He savored the last solo, the coda.
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