III + 

In addition to being a nice, dutiful girl, Molly Waddington was also a persuasive, wheedling girl. Better proof of this statement can hardly be afforded than by the fact that, as the clocks were pointing to ten minutes past eight, a red-faced little man with stiff grey hair and a sulky face shambled down the stairs of Number 16, East Seventy-Ninth Street, and, pausing in the hall, subjected Ferris, the butler, to an offensive glare. It was Sigsbee H. Waddington, fully, if sloppily, dressed in the accepted mode of gentlemen of social standing about to dine. + 

The details of any record performance are always interesting, so it may be mentioned that Molly had reached the library at seven minutes to eight. She had started wheedling at exactly six minutes and forty-five seconds to the hour. At seven fifty-four Sigsbee Waddington had begun to weaken. At seven fifty-seven he was fighting in the last ditch: and at seven fifty-nine, vowing he would ne’er consent, he consented. + 

Into the arguments used by Molly we need not enter fully. It is enough to say that, if a man loves his daughter dearly, and if she comes to him and says that she has been looking forward to a certain party and is wearing a new dress for that party, and if, finally, she adds that, should he absent himself from that party, the party and her pleasure will be ruined⁠—then, unless the man has a heart of stone, he will give in. Sigsbee Waddington had not a heart of stone. Many good judges considered that he had a head of concrete, but nobody had ever disparaged his heart. At eight precisely he was in his bedroom, shovelling on his dress clothes: and now, at ten minutes past, he stood in the hall and looked disparagingly at Ferris. + 

Sigsbee Waddington thought Ferris was an overfed wart. + 

Ferris thought Sigsbee Waddington ought to be ashamed to appear in public in a tie like that. + 

But thoughts are not words. What Ferris actually said was: + 

“A cocktail, sir?” + 

And what Sigsbee Waddington actually said was: + 

“Yup! Gimme!” + 

There was a pause. Mr. Waddington still unsoothed, continued to glower. Ferris, resuming his marmoreal calm, had begun to muse once more, as was his habit when in thought, on Brangmarley Hall, Little-Seeping-in-the-Wold, Salop, Eng., where he had spent the early, happy days of his butlerhood. + 

“Ferris!” said Mr. Waddington at length. + 

“Sir?” + 

“You ever been out West, Ferris?” + 

“No, sir.” + 

“Ever want to go?” + 

“No, sir.” + 

“Why not?” demanded Mr. Waddington belligerently. + 

“I understand that in the Western States of America, sir, there is a certain lack of comfort, and the social amenities are not rigorously observed.” + 

“Gangway!” said Mr. Waddington, making for the front door. + 

He felt stifled. He wanted air. He yearned, if only for a few brief instants, to be alone with the silent stars. + 

It would be idle to deny that, at this particular moment, Sigsbee H. Waddington was in a dangerous mood. The history of nations shows that the wildest upheavals come from those peoples that have been most rigorously oppressed: and it is so with individuals. There is no man so terrible in his spasmodic fury as the henpecked husband during his short spasms of revolt. Even Mrs. Waddington recognised that, no matter how complete her control normally, Sigsbee H., when having one of his spells, practically amounted to a rogue elephant. Her policy was to keep out of his way till the fever passed, and then to discipline him severely. + 

As Sigsbee Waddington stood on the pavement outside his house, drinking in the dust-and-gasolene mixture which passes for air in New York and scanning the weak imitation stars which are the best the East provides, he was grim and squiggle-eyed and ripe for murders, stratagems and spoils. Molly’s statement that there was no Zane Grey in the house had been very far from the truth. Sigsbee Waddington had his private store, locked away in a secret cupboard, and since early morning Riders of the Purple Sage had hardly ever been out of his hand. During the afternoon, moreover, he had managed to steal away to a motion-picture house on Sixth Avenue where they were presenting Henderson Hoover and Sara Svelte in That L’il Gal from the Bar B Ranch. Sigsbee Waddington, as he stood on the pavement, was clad in dress clothes and looked like a stage waiter, but at heart he was wearing chaps and a Stetson hat and people spoke of him as Two-Gun Thomas. + 

A Rolls-Royce drew up at the kerb, and Mr. Waddington moved a step or two away. A fat man alighted and helped his fatter wife out. Mr. Waddington recognised them. B. and Mrs. Brewster Bodthorne. B. Brewster was the first vice-president of Amalgamated Toothbrushes, and rolled in money. + 

“Pah!” muttered Mr. Waddington, sickened to the core. + 

The pair vanished into the house, and presently another Rolls-Royce arrived, followed by a Hispano-Suiza. Consolidated Popcorn and wife emerged, and then United Beef and daughter. A consignment worth on the hoof between eighty and a hundred million. + 

“How long?” moaned Mr. Waddington. “How long?” + 

And then, as the door closed, he was aware of a young man behaving strangely on the pavement some few feet away from him. + 