nd the nurse rode inside with the
patient.

On the way Cutty was rather disturbed by the deep impression Kitty
Conover had made upon his heart and mind. That afternoon he had looked
upon her with fatherly condescension, as the pretty daughter of the two
he had loved most. From the altitude of his fifty-two he had gazed
down upon her twenty-four, weighing her as like all young women of
twenty-four--pleasure-loving and beau-hunting and fashion-scorched;
and in a flash she had revealed the formed mind of a woman of thirty.
Altitude. He had forgotten that relative to altitudes there are always
two angles of vision--that from the summit and that from the green
valley below. Kitty saw him beyond the tree line, but just this side
of the snows--and matched his condescension with pity! He chuckled.
Doddering old ass, what did it matter how she looked at him?

Beautiful and young and full of common sense, yet dangerously
romantical. To wait for the man she wanted, what did that signify but
romance? And there was her Irish blood to consider. The association
of pretty nurse and interesting patient always afforded excellent
background for sentimental nonsense, the obligations of the one and the
gratitude of the other. Well, he had nipped that in the bud.

And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person--how easy it was to fall
into Kitty's way of naming the chap!--why hadn't he taken him directly
to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over a total stranger?
Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who hadn't prospered
particularly since the day he had exhibited the drums of jeopardy--he
was the reason. These were volcanic days, and a friend of Stefani
Gregor--who played the violin like Paganini--might well be worth the
trouble of a little courtesy. Then, too, there was that mark of the
thong--a charm, a military identification disk or something of value.
Whatever it was, the rogues had got it. Murder and loot. And as soon as
he returned to consciousness the young fellow would be making inquiries.

Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged fifty-two
was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized. Second childhood!
As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again see light, after that
tempest of fire and death--that mud volcano!

One thing was certain--there would be no more cat-napping. The game was
on again. He was assured of that side of it.

Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the