ack his
head and laughed the most enjoyable laugh he had known since the night
an itinerant hypnotist, entertaining the citizens of Port Agnew, had
requested any adventurous gentleman in the audience who thought he
couldn't be hypnotized, to walk up and prove it. Dirty Dan O'Leary had
volunteered, had been mesmerized after a struggle, and, upon being
told that he was Dick Whittington's cat, had proceeded to cut some
feline capers that would have tickled the sensibilities of a
totem-pole. Mr. Daney's honest cachinnations now were so infectious
that Nan commenced to laugh with him--heartily, but no longer with
that strident little note of resentment, and cumulatively, as Mr.
Daney's mirth mounted until the honest fellow's tears cascaded across
his ruddy cheeks.

"Egad, Nan," he declared presently, "but you have a rare sense of
humor! Yes, do it. Do it! Make 'em all come down--right here to the
Sawdust Pile! Make 'em remember you--all three of 'em--make 'em say
please! Yes, sir! 'Please Nan, forgive me for forgetting. Please Nan,
forgive me for smiling like the head of an old fiddle. Please, Nan,
get out of Port Agnew, so we can sleep nights. Please, Nan, be careful
not to say "Good-by." Please, Nan, knock out a couple of your front
teeth and wear a black wig and a sunbonnet, so nobody'll recognize you
when you leave, follow you, and learn your address.'" He paused to
wipe his eyes. "Why, dog my cats, girl, you've got 'em where the hair
is short; so make 'em toe the scratch!"

"Well, of course," Nan reminded him, "they are not likely to toe the
scratch unless they receive a hint that toeing scratches is going to
be fashionable in our best Port Agnew circles this winter."

Mr. Daney arched his wild eyebrows, pursed his lips, popped his eyes,
and looked at Nan over the rims of his spectacles.

"Very well, my dear girl, I'll be the goat. A lesson in humility will
not be wasted on certain parties. But suppose they object? Suppose
they buck and pitch and sidestep and bawl and carry on? What then?"

"Why," Nan replied innocently, regarding him in friendly fashion with
those wistful blue eyes, "you might hint that I'm liable to go to The
Laird and tell him I regard him as a very poor sport, indeed, to
expect me to give up his son, in view of the fact that his son's
mother sent for me to save that son's life. Do you know, dear Mr.
Daney, I suspect that if The Laird knew his wife had compromised him
so, he would be a singular