Beta Book

The swindlers were supermen--blonde beasts with
card indices and options instead of clubs. Not that Mr. Wrenn
made any observations regarding supermen. But when, by way of
commercial genius, the swindler robbed a young night clerk Mr.
Wrenn whispered to Theresa, "Gee! he certainly does know how to
jolly them, heh?"
"Sh-h-h-h-h-h!" said Theresa.
Every one made millions, victims and all, in the last act, as a
proof of the social value of being a live American business man.
As they oozed along with the departing audience Mr. Wrenn gurgled:
"That makes me feel just like I'd been making a million
dollars." Masterfully, he proposed, "Say, let's go some place
and have something to eat."
"All right."
"Let's--I almost feel as if I could afford Rector's, after
that play; but, anyway, let's go to Allaire's."
Though he was ashamed of himself for it afterward, he was almost
haughty toward his waiter, and ordered Welsh rabbits and beer
quite as though he usually breakfasted on them. He may even
have strutted a little as he hailed a car with an imaginary
walking-stick.


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