ld me anything at all."

"Well, she did, didn't she?"

"Why, no," Florence replied, lightly. "She didn't say anything to _me_.
Only I'm glad to have your _opinion_ of her, how she's such a
story-teller and all--if I ever want to tell her, and everything!"

But Herbert had greater alarms than this, and the greater obscured the
lesser. "Look here," he said, "if she didn't tell you, how'd you know it
then?"

"How'd I know what?"

"That--that big story about my ever writin' I knew I had"--he gulped
again--"pretty eyes."

"Oh, about _that_!" Florence said, and swung the gate shut between them.
"Well, I guess it's too late to tell you to-night, Herbert; but maybe if
you and that nasty little Henry Rooter do every single thing I tell you
to, and do it just _exackly_ like I tell you from this time on, why
maybe--I only say 'maybe'--well, maybe I'll tell you some day when I
feel like it."

She ran up the path and up the veranda steps, but paused before opening
the front door, and called back to the waiting Herbert:

"The only person I'd ever _think_ of tellin' about it before I tell you
would be a boy I know." She coughed, and added as by an afterthought,
"He'd just love to know all about it; I know he would. So, when I tell
anybody about it I'll only tell just you and this other boy."

"What other boy?" Herbert demanded.

And her reply, thrilling through the darkness, left him demoralized with
horror.

"Wallie Torbin!"

CHAPTER NINETEEN

The next afternoon, about four o'clock, Herbert stood gloomily at the
main entrance of Atwater & Rooter's Newspaper Building awaiting his
partner. The other entrances were not only nailed fast but massively
barricaded; and this one (consisting of the ancient carriage-house
doors, opening upon a driveway through the yard) had recently been made
effective for exclusion. A long and heavy plank leaned against the wall,
near by, ready to be set in hook-shaped iron supports fastened to the
inner sides of the doors; and when the doors were closed, with this
great plank in place, a person inside the building might seem entitled
to count upon the enjoyment of privacy, except in case of earthquake,
tornado, or fire. In fact, the size of the plank and the substantial
quality of the iron fastenings could be looked upon, from a certain
viewpoint, as a real compliment to the energy and persistence of
Florence Atwater.

Herbert had been in no complimentary frame of mind, however, wh