e passed by Claire,
Jeff said gently, "You _are_ lovely!" Only that, and he did not look at
her. But Milt saw that Claire flushed, and her eyes dimmed.

Pinky was silent till he had eaten about two-thirds of the total amount
of fried eggs, cold lamb and ice-box curios. When Claire came over to
see how they fared, Pinky removed himself, with smirking humility, and
firmly joined himself to Jeff and Mr. Boltwood. He caught the subject of
finance and, while Claire dropped down in the chair by Milt, Pinky was
lecturing the two men from New York:

"Ah, finance! Queen of the sociological pantheon! I don't know how come
I am so graced by Fortune as to have encountered in these wilds two
gentlemen so obviously versed in the stratagems of the great golden
game, but I will take the opportunity to give you gentlemen some
statistics about the gold-deposits still existent in the Cascades and
other ranges that may be of benefit and certainly will be a surprise to
you. It happens that I have at the present time a mine----"

Claire was whispering to Milt, "If we can get rid of your dreadful
passenger, I do want you to meet Mr. Saxton. He may be of use to you
some day. He's terribly capable, and really quite nice. Think! He
happened to be out here, and he traced me by telephone--oh, he treats
long-distance 'phoning as I do a hair-pin. He brought down the duckiest
presents--divertissements for dinner, and that knitted robe, and some
real Rene Bleuzet perfume--I was all out of it---- And after the grime
of the road----"

"Do you really care for things like that, all those awfully expensive
luxuries?" begged Milt.

"Of course I do. Especially after small hotels."

"Then you don't really like adventuring?"

"Oh yes--in its place! For one thing, it makes a clever dinner seem so
good by contrast!"

"Well---- Afraid I don't know much about clever dinners," Milt was
sighing, when he was aware of Jeff Saxton looming down on him,
demanding:

"Daggett, would you mind trying to inform your friend that neither Mr.
Boltwood nor I care to invest in his gold-mine? We can't seem to get
that into his head. I don't mind being annoyed myself, but I really feel
I must protect Mr. Boltwood."

"What can I do?"

"My dear sir, since you brought him here----"

It was the potassium cyanide and cracked ice and carpet tacks and TNT
and castor oil in Jeff's "My dear sir" that did it. Milt discovered
himself on his feet, bawling, "I am not your dear si