aped his face in the
washroom he found himself torn between desire to hasten the
introduction which Kennedy had promised and to avoid meeting the girl.
He glanced down at his worn garments, wondering whether or not the girl
had observed them. He went forward to the dining car with sudden
determination to avoid the introduction. The dining car was crowded,
and the table at which Swanson was eating was filled. McCarthy
stopped, looked around for a vacant seat. There seemed to be only
one--and at that table Miss Betty Tabor was breakfasting with Manager
Clancy and his wife.

"Good morning," said the girl, smiling brightly. "There is a seat
here. My father had to hurry away. Mr. Clancy will introduce us."

Clancy suspended his operations with his ham and eggs long enough to
say:

"Miss Taber, Mr. McCarthy. Kohinoor, this is the old lady."

"I heard Mr. McCarthy sing last night," said the girl, acknowledging
the informal presentation. "He sings well."

"So I should guess," remarked Clancy dryly. "Swanson has been
bellowing his praise of it until everyone on the train thinks we have
grabbed a grand opera star who can hit 400."

McCarthy found himself talking with Miss Taber and Mrs. Clancy and
laughing at the quaint half brogue of the manager's buxom wife as if
they had known each other all their lives. Clancy himself had little
to say. The conversation had drifted to discussion of the country
through which the train was running and McCarthy suddenly ceased
talking.

"I always have loved this part of the valley," said Miss Taber. "When
I was a little girl father brought me on a trip and I remember then
picking out a spot on the hills across the river where, some day, I
wanted to live. I never pass it without feeling the old desire. Have
you been through this country before?"

The question was entirely natural, but McCarthy reddened as he admitted
it was his first trip.

"And what part of the world do you come from?" asked Mrs. Clancy.

"I'm from the West," he responded. "Probably that is why I admire this
green country so much."

"What is your home town?" persisted Mrs. Clancy.

Miss Taber, scenting an embarrassing situation, strove to change the
subject, but Mrs. Clancy refused to be put off.

"Why is it you are ashamed of your home and play under another name,
boy?" she demanded.

"Why do you think my name isn't McCarthy?" he parried.

"The McCarthys aren't a red-headed race," she said, h