The mortal youth in him, then, was fascinated, the thinker, the poet; from all sides Ruth attacked him, innocently. “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. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. To stumble upon the trail through the agency of a bottle of whisky! Drank queer; so his bottle had rendered him conspicuous. “Fearful old fogey! I can’t imagine any sister of yours putting up with him for a moment. The youth with the hair brushed back and the spectacled Scotchman joined in the fray for and against the women’s vote. “Quite alone, sir. ” “I’m all for the vote,” said Teddy.
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