s big lips spread into a grin.

"And she 's got brown eyes!" he chortled to himself. "And she 's got
brown 'air, and she 's a wye about 'er. Oh! She's got a wye about
'er! And I 'll bet she 's going with Maurice Rodaine! Oh! She's got
a wye about'er!"

"Oh, shut up!" growled Fairchild, but he grinned in schoolboy fashion
as he said it. Harry poured half a can of oil upon the bearings of the
chiv wheel with almost loving tenderness.

"She 's got a wye about 'er!" he echoed. Fairchild suddenly frowned.

"Just what do you mean? That she 's in love with Rodaine and just--"

"'Ow should I know? But she 's got a wye about 'er!"

"Well," the firm chin of the other man grew firmer, "it won't be hard
to find out!"

And the next night he started upon his investigations. Nor did he stop
to consider that social events had been few and far between for him,
that his dancing had progressed little farther than the simple ability
to move his feet in unison to music. Years of office and home, home
and office, had not allowed Robert Fairchild the natural advantages of
the usual young man. But he put that aside now; he was going to that
dance, and he was going to stay there as long as the music sounded, or
rather as long as the brown eyes, brown hair and laughing lips of Anita
Richmond were apparent to him. What's more, he carried out his
resolution.

The clock turned back with the entrance to that dance hall. Men were
there in the rough mining costumes of other days, with unlighted
candles stuck through patent holders into their hats, and women were
there also, dressed as women could dress only in other days of sudden
riches, in costumes brought from Denver, bespangled affairs with the
gorgeousness piled on until the things became fantastic instead of the
intensely beautiful creations that the original wearers had believed
them to be. There was only one idea in the olden mining days, to buy
as much as possible and to put it all on at once. High, Spanish combs
surmounted ancient styles of hairdressing. Rhinestones glittered in
lieu of the real diamonds that once were worn by the queens of the
mining camps. Dancing girls, newly rich cooks, poverty-stricken
prospectors' wives suddenly beaming with wealth, nineteenth-century
vamps, gambling hall habitues,--all were represented among the
femininity of Ohadi as they laughed and giggled at the outlandish
costumes they wore and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.

Far at