corner and bowed politely, then looped the loop and did a tailspin. Angela knew no more; indeed, not so much.
******
A spoonful of gasoline, forced between her lips, revived her; and she was released by a red-headed Chinaman. Him she might have kissed, perhaps, for Angela’s love was usually all-embracing. But it was too late; her kisses had staled. The man with the green mustache had disappeared. At first she thought he had taken her heart with him, and felt anxiously inside her corset. No, it was not gone, but it was going.
******
Three weeks are supposed by some to have elapsed.
******
Entering a Hall of Records, one day, something—it may have been the Recorder—told her to ask for the new Catterwaulski records, so extensively advertised, of late, in all the best fly-papers. She heard, and, understanding, at last, thereby established a new record of her own for intelligence. Be-
