"

Smith nodded again.

Clinch, now obsessed by his monomania, went on with an oath:

"I can't make no money on the level after what Harrod done to me. And I
gotta fix up Eve. What the hell do you mean by asking me would it pay
me to travel straight. I dunno."

"I was only thinking of Eve. A lady isn't supposed to have a crook for
a father."

Clinch's grey eyes blazed for a moment, then their menacing glare
dulled, died out into wintry fixity.

"I warn't bon a crook," he said. "I ain't got no choice. And don't
worry, young fella; they ain't a-going to get me."

"You can't go on beating the game forever, Clinch."

"I'm beating it----" he hesitated -- "and it won't be so long, neither,
before I turn over enough to let Eve live in the city like any lady,
with her autymobile and her own butler and her swell friends, in a big
house like she is educated for----"

H broke off abruptly as a procession approached from the lake, escorting
the battered gentry who now were able to wabble about a little.

One of them, a fox-faced trap thief named Earl Leverett, slunk hastily
by as though expecting another kick from Clinch.

"G'wan inside, Earl, and act up right," said Clinch pleasantly. "You
oughter have more sense than to start a fight in my place -- you and Sid
Hone and Harvey Chase. G'wan in and behave."

He and Smith followed the procession of damaged ones into the house.

The big unpainted room where a bar had once been was blue with cheap
cigar smoke; the air reeked with the stench of beer and spirits. A
score or more shambling forest louts in their dingy Saturday finery were
gathered here playing cards, shooting craps, lolling around tables and
tilting sloping glasses at one another.

Heavy pleasantries were exchanged with the victims of Clinch's ponderous
fists as they re-entered the room from which they had been borne so
recently, feet first.

"Now, boys," said Clinch kindly, "act up like swell gents and behave
friendly. And if any ladies come in for the chicken supper, why, gol
dang it, we'll have a dance!"

* * * * *

III

Toward sundown the first woodland nymph appeared -- a half-shy,
half-bold, willowy thing in the rosy light of the clearing.

Hal Smith, washing glasses and dishes on the back porch for Eve Strayer
to dry, asked who the rustic beauty might be.

"Harvey Chase's sister," said Eve. "She shouldn't come here, but I
can't keep her away and her brother doesn't care. She's o