rd joyously.
"Get a hair-cut, and you won't have a chance on earth to fool the
police."

"The color did run and fade some," admitted Clay.

"Worth every cent of nine ninety-eight at a bargain sale before the
Swede got busy with it--and he let you have it at a sacrifice for
fifty-five dollars!" The millionaire wept happy tears as a climax of
his rapture. He swallowed his cigar smoke and had to be pounded on the
back by his daughter.

"Would you mind getting yore man to wrop it up for me? I'm goin' to
have a few pleasant words with I. Bernstein," said Clay with mock
mournfulness.

"When?" asked Whitford promptly.

"Never you mind when, sah. I'm not issuin' any tickets of admission.
It's goin' to be a strictly private entertainment."

"Are you going to take a water hose along?"

"That's right," reproached Clay. "Make fun of me because I'm a
stranger and come right from the alfalfa country." He turned to
Beatrice cheerfully. "O' course he bit me good and proper. I'm green.
But I'll bet he loses that smile awful quick when he sees me again."

"You're not going to--"

"Me, I'm the gentlest citizen in Arizona. Never in trouble. Always
peaceable and quiet. Don't you get to thinkin' me a bad-man, for I
ain't."

Jenkins came to the door and announced "Mr. Bromfield."

Almost on his heels a young man in immaculate riding-clothes sauntered
into the room. He had the assured ease of one who has the run of the
house. Miss Whitford introduced the two young men and Bromfield looked
the Westerner over with a suave insolence in his dark, handsome eyes.

Clay recognized him immediately. He had shaken hands once before with
this well-satisfied young man, and on that occasion a fifty-dollar bill
had passed from one to the other. The New Yorker evidently did not
know him.

It became apparent at once that Bromfield had called to go riding in
the Park with Miss Whitford. That young woman came up to say good-bye
to her new acquaintance.

"Will you be here when I get back?"

"Not if our friends outside give me a chance for a getaway," he told
her.

Her bright, unflinching eyes looked into his. "You'll come again and
let us know how you escaped," she invited.

"I'll ce'tainly do that, Miss Whitford."

"Then we'll look for you Thursday afternoon, say."

"I'll be here."

"If the police don't get you."

"They won't," he promised serenely.

"When you're quite ready, Bee," suggested Bromfield in a bored v