"What was the old name?"
"The Lady Evelyn. If I was you, I'd get outside a drink, and quick. Good night."
As Minot dashed up the bank, he heard the swish of the old man's oars behind. He ran all the way to his rooms, and after a hot bath and the liquid refreshment suggested by the waterman, called Mr. Thacker on the telephone.
"Well, Richard?" that gentleman inquired.
"Sad news. Little Cupid's had a set-back. Tossed into the Hudson when he tried to board the yacht that is taking Lord Harrowby south."
"No? Is that so?" Mr. Thacker's tone was contemplative. "Well, Richard, the Palm Beach Special leaves at midnight. Better be on it. Better go down and help the bride with her trousseau."
"Yes, sir. I'll do that. And I'll see to it that she has her lamp trimmed and burning. Considering that her father's in the oil business, that ought not to be—"
"I can't hear you, Richard. What are you saying?"
"Nothing—er—Mr. Thacker. Look up a yacht
