shining tenderness beneath long
lashes. She paced a little faster, chin up, nerves taut.

"I've had an attack of common sense," he went on, and in his voice was
a strength both audacious and patient. "I thought at first I couldn't
hope to win you because of your fortune and what it had done for you.
Even when I knew you liked me I felt it wouldn't be fair for me to ask
you. I couldn't offer you the advantages you'd had. But I've changed
my mind. I've been watching what money does to yore friends. It makes
them soft. They flutter around like butterflies. They're paupers--a
good many of them--because they don't pay their way. A man's a tramp
if he doesn't saw wood for his breakfast. I don't want you to get like
that, and if you stay here long enough you sure will. It's in my heart
that if you'll come with me we'll live."

In the darkness she made a rustling movement toward him. A little sob
welled up in her throat as her hands lifted to him. "Oh, Clay! I've
fought against it. I didn't want to, but--I love you. Oh, I do love
you!"

He took her lissom young body in his arms. Her lips lifted to his.

Presently they walked forward slowly. Clay had never seen her more
lovely and radiant, though tears still clung to the outskirts of her
joy.

"We're going to live--oh, every how!" she cried to the stars, her
lover's hand in hers.

CHAPTER XL

CLAY PLAYS SECOND FIDDLE

Johnnie felt that Kitty's farewell dinner had gone very well. It was
her first essay as a hostess, and all of them had enjoyed themselves.
But, so far as he could see, it had not achieved the results for which
they had been hoping.

Clay came home late and next morning was full of plans about leaving.
He discussed the packing and train schedules and affairs at the
B-in-a-Box. But of Beatrice Whitford he made not even a casual mention.

"Two more days and we'll hit the trail for good old Tucson," he said
cheerfully.

"Y'betcha, by jollies," agreed his bandy-legged shadow.

None the less Johnnie was distressed. He believed that his friend was
concealing an aching heart beneath all this attention to impending
details. As a Benedict he considered it his duty to help the rest of
the world get married too. A bachelor was a boob. He didn't know what
was best for him. Same way with a girl. Clay was fond of Miss
Beatrice, and she thought a heap of him. You couldn't fool Johnnie.
No, sirree! Well, then?

Mooning on the sad