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The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. "Not a syllable," replied Wild. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. All sorts of battered tramps, junks and riff-raff of the seas trailed in and out. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. But if she smiled at all it was with her eyes.
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