t
little role for himself. "That's the story--eh, what?"

"Oh could we--could we do that?" Maria Angelina implored with quivering
lips.

"Of course we can do that. Only you've got to stick to that story like
grim death--no making any little break about climbing the mountain top
and things like that, you know."

"You may trust me," said Maria fervently.

"Leave it to your Uncle Dudley," Johnny reassured him. "But, look here,
Barry, do you want me to die on your doorstep?" he demanded, his hunger
returning as his agitation subsided.

"Oh, sit down, Johnny, and I'll bring you something," said Barry at
last. "You had better keep your eye on the trail to see if any one else
is coming along. Two in a morning is quite stirring," he said
deliberately. "I'm sure the fire is still burning--unless you'd prefer
to have him perish of starvation?" he paused to inquire politely of the
girl, his twinkling eyes bringing a sudden irrepressible answer to her
lips.

"Yes, that will be best for everybody's feelings," he rattled on, from
the interior of the cabin, referring not to Johnny's demise but to the
construction of a defensive narrative. "Each of you wandered about all
night alone. . . . Here's some ham, Johnny, and cold toast. There'll be
hot coffee in an instant. . . . Now remember you crossed the river just
after the thunder storm and separated to try different trails. And you
never found each other . . . That's simple, isn't it? And you, Johnny,
climbed the wrong mountain and slept in a shack and came down this
morning and returned to the Lodge. You must show up there, worried as
blazes and tearing your hair," he instructed the devouring Johnny who
merely nodded, tearing wolfishly at the cold toast.

"But before you reach the Lodge I will ease the anxiety there by
telephoning that I have just found Maria Angelina," went on Barry, using
quite unconsciously the name by which he was thinking of the girl.

He turned to her, "With your permission, I shall say that I have just
found you, that I have given you something to eat and while you were
resting I went to telephone. Does that make you any happier?"

Her answering look was radiant.

"Now, remember--don't change a word of this. . . . Here's your coffee,
Johnny. When you reach the Lodge, don't forget that you haven't seen me
and that you are still unfed----"

"Unfed is right," said Johnny ungratefully. "Oh, my gosh, I am stiff as
a poker. What do you say, Barry, to ou