nks best. Get Whitford and tell him
the fight's off."

"If I do, will you let me go?"

"If you don't, we'll return to the previous question--the annual
meeting of the Bromfield Punishment Company, Limited."

Bromfield got busy with the telephone.

When he had finished. Clay strolled over to a bookcase, cast his eyes
over the shelves, and took out a book. It was "David Harum." He found
an easy-chair, threw a leg over one arm, and presently began to chuckle.

"Are you going to keep me here all day?" asked his host sulkily.

"Only till about four o'clock. We're paired, you and me, so we'll both
stay away from the election. Why don't you pick you a good book and
enjoy yoreself? There's a lot of A 1 readin' in that case over there.
It'll sure improve yore mind."

Clarendon ground his teeth impotently.

His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the old
horse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it.
His watch told him that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield's man
was at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out.

"No, I can't stay to tea to-day, Mr. Bromfield," the Arizonan was
saying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "No use urging me. Honest, I've
really got to be going. Had a fine time, didn't we? So long."

Bromfield used bad language.

CHAPTER XXXIX

IN CENTRAL PARK

Johnnie burst into the kitchen beaming. "We're gonna p'int for the
hills, Kitty. Clay he's had a letter callin' him home."

"When are you going?"

"Thursday. Ain't that great?"

She nodded, absently. Her mind was on another tack already. "Johnnie,
I'm going to ask Miss Whitford here for dinner to-night."

"Say, you ce'tainly get the best notions, honeybug," he shouted.

"Do you think she'll come?"

"Sure she'll come."

"I'll fix up the bestest dinner ever was, and maybe--"

Her conclusion wandered off into the realm of unvoiced hopes, but her
husband knew what it was as well as it she had phrased it.

When Clay came home that evening he stopped abruptly at the door. The
lady of his dreams was setting the table in the dining-room and
chatting gayly with an invisible Kitty in the kitchen. Johnnie was
hovering about her explaining some snapshots of Clay he had gathered.

"Tha's the ol' horn-toad winnin' the ropin' championship at Tucson. He
sure stepped some that day," the Runt boasted.

The delicate fragrance of the girl's personality went to Clay's head
like