u can say which can hurt
me. Becky knows--God knows, that I wish she were as poor as poverty.
Perhaps money doesn't mean as much to us as it does to yon. I wish I
had it, yes--so that I could give it to her. But love for us means a
tent in the desert--a hut on a mountain--it can never mean what we
could buy with money."

"Does love mean to her," George's tone was incisive, "a tent in the
desert, a hut on a mountain?"

Randy's anger flamed. "I think," he said, "that I should beg Becky's
pardon for bringing her name into this at all---- And now, will you
give me her fan?"

"When she asks for it--yes."

Randy was breathing heavily. "Will you give me her--fan----"

The mist from the fountain blew cool against his hot cheeks. The water
which old Neptune poured from his shell flashed white under the stars.

"Let her ask for it----" George's laugh was light.

It was that laugh which made Randy see red. He caught George's wrists
suddenly in his hands. "Drop it."

George stopped laughing. "Let her ask for it," he said again.

Randy twisted the wrists. It was a cruel trick. But his Indian blood
was uppermost.

"Drop it," he said, with another twist, and the fan fell.

But Randy was not satisfied. "Do you think," he said, "that I am
through with you? What you need is tar and feathers, but failing
that----" he did not finish his sentence. He caught George around the
body and began to push him back towards the fountain.

George fought doggedly--but Randy was strong with the muscular strength
of youth and months of military training.

"I'll kill you for this," George kept saying.

"No," said Randy, conserving his breath, "they don't--do
it--in--these--days----"

He had Dalton now at the rim and with a final effort of strength he
lifted him--there was a splash, and into the deeps of the great basin
went George, while the bronze Neptune, and the bronze dolphins, and the
nymphs with flowing hair, splashed and spouted a welcoming chorus that
drowned his cry!

Randy, head up, eyes shining, marched into the house and had a servant
brush him off and powder a scratch on his chin; then he went
down-stairs to the Hunt Room and strode across the room until he came
to where Becky sat in her corner.

"I found your fan," he told her, and laid it, a blaze of lovely color,
on the table in front of her.

CHAPTER XIII

THE WHISTLING SALLY

I

Becky, as she journeyed towards the north, had carried with