It's a bachelor's ranch from basement to garret, inhabited by artists, journalists, one or two magazine men, a clever novelist, and three of our New York men.

There is no small fry save myself.

We have little banquets every Friday night, and they sometimes last till Saturday noon.

I've taught the Frenchman who represents the Paris _Temps_ how to play poker, and he threatens to become my Frankenstein, who will eventually devour me." Hillars laughed, and it sounded like the laughter of other days.

"Jack, I think you will do me good.