ble distance off for repairs and I'll pay you fifty
dollars."

"See here," broke in Jem, somewhat staggered by the careless manner in
which Mr. Poynter handled fortunes, "hain't no foul play about this
here, eh? Asher says he's mussed up considerable."

"Asher's right," admitted Mr. Poynter modestly. "I did the best I
could, of course. Come up and look him over. He's decorated
mournfully with fist marks, but nothing worse. There's his knife."

After a somewhat cautious inspection, Themar was hoisted aboard the
scow and harnessed discreetly with ropes. Jem shared his companion's
distrust of black-and-tans. With a tinkle of mule-bells the cortege
faded away into the gray of dawn.

Later, Mr. Poynter discovered an abandoned motorcycle by the roadside,
which with some little malice he had crated at the nearest town and
dispatched to Baron Tregar.

Thereafter, after a warning talk with Johnny, Philip slept by day and
watched by night.

CHAPTER XXII

SYLVAN SUITORS

Southward wound the green and white van; southward the hay-camp with
infrequent scurries to inn and barn for shelter; southward, his health
still improving, went the musical nomad, unwinding his musical
hullabaloo for the torture of musical crowds.

Now the world was a-riot with the life and color of midsummer. Sleepy
cows browsed about in fields dotted with orange daisies, horses
switched their tails against the cloudless sky on distant hillsides,
sheep freckled the sunny pastures, and here and there beneath an apple
tree heavy with fruit, lumbered a mother-sow with her litter of pigs.
Sun-bleached dust clouded the highway and the swaying fields of corn
were slim and tall.

The shuttle of Fate clicked and clicked as she wove and crossed and
tangled the threads of these wandering, sun-brown nomads. How
frequently the path of the music machine crossed the path of the van,
no one knew so well perhaps as Philip, but Philip at times was
tantalizing and mysterious and only evidenced his knowledge in peculiar
and singularly aggravating ways.

For the friendship between Diane and the handsome minstrel was steadily
growing. By what subtle hints, by what ingenuous bursts of confidence,
by what bewildering flashes of inherent magnetism he contrived to
cement it, who may say? But surely his romantic resources like his
irresistible charm of speech and manner, were varied. A rare flower,
an original and highly commendable bit of woodland verse,