hem. I expect to be busy all day; and Cousin Jeannette says
she doesn't care to go about. Suppose you and Gertrude take a run up
into the mountains on one of the narrow-gauges. It'll fill in the day,
and you can be back in time for dinner this evening."

"I don't mind, if Gertrude wants to go; but I don't believe she does,"
said Fleetwell, with so little enthusiasm that the President looked at
him sharply.

"Think not?"

"I'm almost sure she doesn't," the collegian replied, placidly.

Mr. Francis Vennor was a conservative man, slow to admit even the
contradiction of facts. While waiting for Gertrude the previous evening,
he had convinced himself that his daughter was about to sacrifice
herself. To an impartial onlooker--and he prided himself on being no
less--the evidence was logically conclusive; and, notwithstanding
Gertrude's tardy denial, he still believed that his major premise was
correct, or, at most, only errant in time.

Having thus set his judgment a bad example, it easily broke bounds again
in the same direction. How should Fleetwell know that Gertrude would not
care to spend the day in his company? Probably because they had found
time before breakfast for another of their foolish disagreements. In
that case, it would be the part of wisdom to separate them for the day;
and a plan by which this might be accomplished, and the passenger agent
checkmated at the same time, suggested itself at the instant.

"We'll let it go at that, then," he said, answering Fleetwell's
assumption. "You can manage to wear out the day in town. Perhaps the
Beaswicke girls will let you go calling with them."

"Think so? I'll go and ask them," Fleetwell said, with more animation
than he had yet exhibited; and he threw away his cigar and went about
it.

The President rose and crossed over to Mrs. Dunham's chair.

"Where is Gertrude?" he inquired.

"She complained of a headache and went to her room. Shall I call her?"

"Oh, no; but if you haven't already done so, I wish you wouldn't mention
what Brockway told you, this morning--about his spending the day in
Denver, I mean."

"Certainly not, if you wish it," the chaperon agreed; but the expression
of her face was so plainly interrogative that the President was
constrained to go on.

"There is nothing to be anxious about yet," he hastened to say; "but you
know the old adage about the ounce of prevention. Gertrude is very
self-willed, and they were together rather more than