rld. That's why I really don't
want Chubbie any longer. You're first in his heart, and I'm second.
And, though I'm quite selfish about it, I know I'm doing him the
greatest favor in the world--that is, if you're willing to take him."

"I'd shore be tickled to death to have him," Zeke admitted. "But it
don't seem right."

"Providence seems to have arranged it that way, anyhow," Josephine
declared, airily. "Perhaps, if a surgeon operated on him for the dent
you put in his skull, he might cease loving you. But nothing else
seems likely to stop him."

The dog, thrusting its cold muzzle against Zeke's palm, whined assent.
Josephine regarded her disloyal pet a little regretfully.

"He's a good dog," she said, softly. "He deserves to be happy."

"Plutiny'll be plumb tickled to see the critter I've wrote sech a heap
about," Zeke remarked. His eyes were suddenly grown dreamy.

"You and your Plutina!" she railed. But her voice was very kindly.
When she had learned of the young man's prospects and the nearness of
his return home, she uttered a remark that puzzled Zeke.

"You don't need to envy anyone." There was a light almost of jealousy
in the blue eyes.

"Why, I never thought o' sech a thing!" he answered indignantly. "Why
should I?"

"Why, indeed?" Josephine repeated, and she sighed. She sighed again on
taking leave, when she observed that the bull-terrier made no
movement to accompany her, but stood steadfastly by Zeke's side.

* * * * *

Into the happy, busy routine of Zeke's life in New York, Uncle Dick's
telegram came with the crash of catastrophe. It was merely with
innocent wondering that he opened the yellow envelope, which a
messenger delivered in Sutton's office on a pleasant summer afternoon.
It was the first missive of the sort in Zeke's experience, yet he felt
no slightest chill of apprehension. His mood was too firmly joyous to
be easily shaken. He merely wondered, and felt no fear whatever, as he
pulled out the sheet of flimsy paper, and unfolded it, while his
employer sat looking on curiously, himself already suspicious of
trouble. Zeke read the typewritten words through stupidly, under the
first shock uncomprehending. Then, he repeated the message aloud, as
if challenging its meaning.

"Plutina been stolen," ran the summons. "Dan Hodges done it. Need
help."

The name of Richard Siddon as the sender in itself told how desperate
must be the situation, els