ve a spot of suspicion on it as big as a
pinpoint. But you go and rake this kid off the streets and when his lady
friends come in----Where did she come from, kid, and how did she get up
here?"

His smile broadened happily as he observed that David had not yet ceased
wiggling his back in search of broken bones.

"I explained all that to Mr. Fry," David said rather sulkily.

"I know, Davy, but that doesn't count for anything," Mr. Boller
chuckled. "You see, Mr. Fry's a bachelor--has been all his life and
expects to be if he lives to be a hundred. What he doesn't know about
females in general would fill a string of libraries from here to Battery
Park and half way across to Staten Island.

"You've probably told him the squab was your sister and he fell and said
what a pretty sister she was. But as for _me_, Dave--you couldn't put
that stuff over if you tried a month. I'm the original specialist in
everything female; I've got a kind of sixth sense that tells me all
about them before I've even seen 'em and after I've looked at 'em once I
can tell you where they were three weeks ago last Saturday night. You
can't fool me when it comes to women."

"Well, now, suppose we drop the subject and----" Anthony began
agitatedly.

"Let me slip this kid some real advice," said Mr. Boller. "Davy, I know
all sorts of women--good and bad and the kind you think are all right,
but aren't! Get me? You're only a boy, and offhand I'd say that this
French damsel belonged in the latter class. At a guess, you met her----"

"Stop!" cried Anthony Fry in pure terror.

Johnson Boller gazed mildly at him.

"If you're going to adopt this kid, Anthony, you might better let me put
him wise to some of his past mistakes and tell him how to avoid 'em in
his new life. I don't know what lie he put over on you, but you know as
well as I do that the just-right kind of boy isn't receiving mysterious
calls before seven in the morning from a highly affectionate----"

"_Stop!_" gasped Anthony. "Whatever--whatever advice David needs I shall
give him myself!"

Johnson Boller sighed and shrugged his shoulders, as if casting aside a
responsibility he had assumed only because of a strong sense of duty. It
was a little disappointing, because he had figured fully on rousing
David--who must be a white-livered, spiritless little whelp, by the
way--and having David rush to the defense of his mysterious lady. He had
counted fully on David's voice rising and then up