."

"I saw a fine old Western gentleman drive by here with old man Selden
yesterday--looked like a Westerner, anyhow; big sombrero, leather face,
and all that. I hope," said Ferdie anxiously, "that it was not this
venerable gentleman who put you on the blink. He was a fine old relic;
but he looked rather patriarchal for the role of Lochinvar. Unless, of
course, he has the money."

"Yes, he's a Western man, all right. I met them on the Vesper Bridge,"
replied Boland absently, ignoring the banter. He got to his feet and
spoke with dreamy animation. "Ferdie, that chap made me feel homesick
with just one look at him. Best time I ever had was with that sort.
Younger men I was running with, of course. Fine chaps; splendidly
educated and perfect gentlemen when sober--I quote from an uncredited
quotation from a copy of an imitation of a celebrated plagiarist. Would
go back there and stay and stay, only for the lady mother. She's used to
the city.... By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept."

"Hi!" said Ferdie. "Party yellin' at you from the road. Come out of your
trance."

Francis Charles looked up. A farmer had stopped his team by the front
gate.

"Mr. Boland!" he trumpeted through his hands.

Boland answered the hail and started for the gate, Ferdie following; the
agriculturist flourished a letter, dropped it in the R.F.D. box, and
drove on.

"Oh, la, la! The thick plottens!" observed Ferdie.

Francis Charles tore open the letter, read it hastily, and turned with
sparkling eyes to his friend. His friend, for his part, sighed
profoundly.

"Oh Francis, Francis!" he chided.

"Here, you howling idiot; read it!" said Francis.

The idiot took the letter and read:

DEAR MR. BOLAND: I need your help. Mr. Johnson, a friend of
Stanley's--his best friend--is up here from Arizona upon business
of the utmost importance, both to himself and Stanley.

I have only this moment had word that Mr. Johnson is in the most serious
trouble. To be plain, he is in Vesper Jail. There has been foul play,
part and parcel of a conspiracy directed against Stanley. Please come
at once. I claim your promise.

Mary Selden

Ferdie handed it back.

"My friend's friend is my friend? And so on, _ad infinitum_, like fleas
with little fleas to bite 'em--that sort of thing--what? Does that let me
in? I seem to qualify in a small-flealike way."

"You bet you do, old chap! That's the spirit! Do you rush up and present
my profound apologie