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put in Kittens Mitchell, who had heard this, as she seemed to hear everything Jock and Yvonne said to one another. "I know him. I was out with him once myself. Once was enough, let me tell! Perry Loomis, his name is. Champion All-American tank. He's been bounced from more good schools than any seven birds in history."

"He looks it," remarked Jock. Perry Loomis did look it. He was a plump, dissipated-faced youth, plainly very tipsy at this moment. He hunched over the table toward the girl in red, lolling his head from side to side, narrowing his eyes, and wagging a limp forefinger by way of emphasis to whatever it was he was saying.

Jock summed him up in a sentence. "Natural-born wet smack." And thought no more of him. He pulled out his watch and peered at it, and showed it to Yvonne in silence. Their eyes met comprehendingly. "Let's go," he said, dropping his own eyes to hide the sudden flame of them.

"Where you going?" cried Barney Blaine. "You're not going to leave us? Why, it isn't twelve o'clock yet, even!"

"It's two minutes of," Jock announced. "We'll be back after a bit. Got a little matter to attend to backstage."

They had decided, earlier in the evening, that they would see the New Year in alone, together. "It's going to be our year," Jock had said romantically. "Don't let's be in the midst of this mob when it begins! Let's begin it right, by ourselves." This was the "little matter" to which they were now obliged to attend.

"Kiss her for me," hazarded Charley Kaufman as they rose.