to assure themselves that he was
a fit man to be in the employ of old Breede? He could imagine it of
them; as soon as they thought about voting they began to interfere in a
man's business. Yet this suspicion slept when he was with the flapper
alone. Sometimes he was conscious of liking very much to be with her. He
decided that this was because she didn't talk.

The evening of his last day came. Breede, in a burst of garrulity, had
said: "Had enough this; go town to-morrow!" The flapper, and even the
Demon, had seemed to be stirred by the announcement. He resolved to be
more than ever on his guard. But they caught him fairly in the open.

"How do you like his hair parted that way in the middle?" demanded the
flapper, with the calculating eye of one who ponders changes in a
dwelling-house.

"U-u-mm!" considered the Demon gravely. "Not bad. Still, perhaps--!"

"Exactly what I was thinking!" said the flapper cordially. Then, to
Bean, her tone slightly raised:

"Which way?"

"Got to get off a bunch of telegrams," lied Bean.

"Oh, all right! We'll wait for you," said the flapper. "Right there,"
she added, pointing to the most expensive pergola on the place.

In the dusk of an hour later he slunk stealthily down a rear stairway
and made a cautious detour into the grounds. He earnestly meant to keep
far from that pergola. Wait for him, would they? Well, he'd show them!
Always spying on a man; _hounding_ him! What business was it of theirs
whether he had habits or not ... any kind of habits?

But he was to find himself under a spell such as is said to bring the
weak-willed bird to the serpent's maw. His traitorous feet dragged him
toward the trap. The odour of a cigarette drew his revolted nostrils. He
could hear the murmurous duet.

Talking about him! Of course! He would like to break in on them and for
a little while be a certain Corsican upstart in one of his most
objectionable moods. That would take them down a bit. But, instead, he
became something entirely different. With the stealth of the red Indian
he effaced himself against a background of well-groomed shrubbery and
crept toward the murmur. At last he could hear words above the beating
of his heart.

"How can you _know_?" the Demon was saying. "A child of your age?"

The flapper's tone was calm and confident as one who relates a
phenomenon that has become a commonplace.

"I knew it the very first second I ever saw him--something went over me
just like