laugh. "You're flattering me."

"Honest, I ain't." Johnnie whispered a secret across the rose-bushes.
"Say, if you work it right I believe you can get him."

The girl sparkled. Here was a new slant on matrimonial desirability.
Clearly the view of the little cow-puncher was that Clay had only to
crook his fingers to summon any girl in the world that he desired.

"Do you think so--with so many attractive girls in New York?" she
pleaded.

"He don't pay no 'tention to them. Honest, I believe you can if you
don't spill the beans."

"What would you advise me to do?" she dimpled.

"Sho! I dunno." He shyly unburdened himself of the warning he had
been leading up to. "But I'd tie a can to that dude fellow that hangs
around--the Bromfield guy. O' course I know he ain't one two three
with you while Clay's on earth, but I don't reckon I'd take any
chances, as the old sayin' is. No, ma'am, I'd ce'tainly lose him
_pronto_. Clay might get sore. Better get shet of the dude."

Miss Whitford bit her lip to keep from exploding in a sudden gale of
mirth. But the sight of her self-appointed chaperon set her off into
peals of laughter in spite of herself. Every time she looked at
Johnnie she went off into renewed chirrups. He was so homely and so
deadly earnest. The little waif was staring at her in perplexed
surprise, mouth open and chin fallen. He could see no occasion for
gayety at his suggestion. There was nothing subtle about the Runt. In
his social code wealth did not figure. A forty-dollar-a-month bronco
buster was free to offer advice to the daughter of a millionaire about
her matrimonial prospects if it seemed best.

And just now it seemed to Johnnie decidedly best. He scratched his tow
head, for he had mulled the whole thing over and decided reluctantly to
do his duty by the girl. So far as he could make out, Beatrice
Whitford played no favorites in her little court of admirers. Clay
Lindsay and Clarendon Bromfield were with her more than any of the
others. If she inclined to either of the two, Johnnie could see no
evidence of it. She was gay and frank with both, a jolly comrade for a
ride, a dinner dance, or a theater party.

This was what troubled Johnnie. Of course she must be in love with
Clay and want to marry him, since she was a normal human being. But if
she continued to play with Bromfield the Westerner might punish her by
sheering off. That was the reason why the Runt was doing his
c