he soon discovered that no one in the railroad office—­not even the office boy—­took him seriously.  He was tolerated by the office staff because he happened to be the husband of the boss’ sister-in-law, but no one dreamed for an instant of entrusting him with any work involving responsibility.  He was given an occupation in which he would do the least harm, and for his services his millionaire employer, anxious to help his sister-in-law in every way possible, humorously invented quite a novel rate of remuneration.  He decided to pay Jimmie exactly ten times what he was actually worth.  Thus at first when the clerk was actually worth $5 he was given $50; later when he was worth $10 he was raised to $100.  Being quite unaware of this carefully graduated scale of wages, made specially in his honor, Jimmy went to the Stafford office every day wearing the same jaunty self-confident air, convinced that his employer was underpaying him and that he was a very valuable person, indeed.

* * * * *

As he entered Fanny ran up to him and kissed him impulsively.  Jimmie looked at her in surprise.  Comically he remarked: 

“What’s that for?  A touch?”

She laughed heartily.

“Not this time.”  Looking admiringly at her husband, she added: 

“Well, I guess this was some night for the Gillie family, eh?”

“Yes—­wasn’t it!” exclaimed Virginia, still occupied in preparing for the night.

Jimmie grinned.  Good-humoredly he said: 

“You were queens—­both of you!  The others were only deuces!”

“I’d be sure to think that, anyway!” laughed Fanny.

“So would anybody with good eyes,” he went on.  “Honest—­I never saw so much paint on a bunch of women in my life!  When it comes to complexion, they make the crowd at the French Maids’ Ball look like a lot of schoolgirls just out of the convent.”

“It was pretty bad,” assented his wife.

“The funny thing,” he continued, “was that the old ones were the worst.  There was one old party in particular—­the one that wore that long fur coat—­what a fur coat!—­I’m not sure what kind of fur it was, but it looked to me like unborn plush!”

“James!” exclaimed his wife, scandalized.

“Well,” he proceeded, “that dame was so outrageously made up that you could have used her face for a danger signal—­on the level you could—­and yet I’ll bet she was so old it would break a fellow just to buy candles for her birthday cake.”

“I know the one you mean,” laughed Fanny.

“Why do they do it?” he demanded with an air of superiority.  “Do they think folks are blind?  Or does each woman imagine that while she can spot it on every other woman a mile off, nobody can see it on her?”

“I think you have guessed it!”

“We were all right, weren’t we?” interrupted Virginia with a smile.

“That’s what you were!” he exclaimed enthusiastically.  Then, surveying his own clothes in the mirror with great satisfaction, he went on:  “While we are on the subject, what is the matter with ’yours truly’?”