lent.

"Staring at what?" asked Florinda, turning then from the window.

Pennoyer seemed embarrassed. "Why, I don't know--nothing, I guess--I
couldn't see very well. I was only fooling."

Florinda scanned his face suspiciously. "Staring at what?" she demanded
imperatively.

"Nothing, I tell you!" shouted Pennoyer.

Florinda looked at him, and wavered and debated. Presently she said,
softly: "Ah, go on, Penny. Tell me."

"It wasn't anything at all, I say!" cried Pennoyer stoutly. "I was only
giving you a jolly. Sit down, Splutter, and hit a cigarette."

She obeyed, but she continued to cast the dubious eye at Pennoyer. Once
she said to him privately: "Go on, Penny, tell me. I know it was
something from the way you are acting."

"Oh, let up, Splutter, for heaven's sake!"

"Tell me," beseeched Florinda.

"No."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Pl-e-a-se tell me."

"No."

"Oh, go on."

"No."

"Ah, what makes you so mean, Penny? You know I'd tell you, if it was the
other way about."

"But it's none of my business, Splutter. I can't tell you something
which is Billie Hawker's private affair. If I did I would be a chump."

"But I'll never say you told me. Go on."

"No."

"Pl-e-a-se tell me."

"No."

CHAPTER XXII.

When Florinda had gone, Grief said, "Well, what was it?" Wrinkles looked
curiously from his drawing-board.

Pennoyer lit his pipe and held it at the side of his mouth in the manner
of a deliberate man. At last he said, "It was two violets."

"You don't say!" ejaculated Wrinkles.

"Well, I'm hanged!" cried Grief. "Holding them in his hand and moping
over them, eh?"

"Yes," responded Pennoyer. "Rather that way."

"Well, I'm hanged!" said both Grief and Wrinkles. They grinned in a
pleased, urchin-like manner. "Say, who do you suppose she is? Somebody
he met this summer, no doubt. Would you ever think old Billie would get
into that sort of a thing? Well, I'll be gol-durned!"

Ultimately Wrinkles said, "Well, it's his own business." This was spoken
in a tone of duty.

"Of course it's his own business," retorted Grief. "But who would ever
think----" Again they grinned.

When Hawker entered the den some minutes later he might have noticed
something unusual in the general demeanour. "Say, Grief, will you loan
me your---- What's up?" he asked.

For answer they grinned at each other, and then grinned at him.

"You look like a lot of Chessy cats," he told them.

They grinned on.