THE CITY OF *
NUMBERED DAYS
6/ FRANCIS LYNDE • - •
ILLUSTRATIONS by C.D.RHODES • • •
■ COPYRIGHT BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S 5DNS
SYNOPSIS.
CHuAPT.KR f—Broulllard, rliief engineer
on the Nlquoia irrigation dam. goes out
fr0iri«<'a.rnl' ,0 Investigate a strange light
and nods an automobile party camped at
the canyon portal.
CHAPTER LI—Brottillarri meets J Wes
ley Cortwright and Ids daughter Gene
vieve of the auto party ami explains the
rerlamation work to them.
CHAPTER III Cortwright sees in the
projei t a big chance to make money “and
no chance for a man to get in anywhere.”
Eioulllard Is impervious to hints from the
financier, who tells Gene vieve the engi
!\eer ‘will corne down and hook himself
if the bait is well covered.'*
CHAPTER IV Cortwright organizes a
company and obtains government con
tracts to furnish power and material for
the dam constriction. A busy city
springs up about tic site. Steve Massin
&aif 4nhr^fttfns tn yt; :t a Kold rush if
Brbuiliard does not influence President
Foid to build a railroad branch to the
place, thus opening ;in easy market for
trie ore from the “Little Susan" mine.
CHAPTER V-Prouillard and the com
Proni°ter clash, but on orders from
asuington Brouillard turns over the
plans for the power installation.
CHAPTER VI—On a visit to Amv Mas
singale at her father's mine Brouillarii
finds she understands him better than he
had thought.
CHAPTER VIT—He tells her of his need
for money to pay off his dead father's
debts and that t he free he would sacri
fice anything su «• his love for one wom
an. Though his influence is vital to the
building of the railroad extension she
tells him to be true to himself. He de
cides for it.
CHAPTER VITT—Mlrapolls. the city of
numbered days, booms Cortwright per
suades Rrouillard P- become consulting
engineer of the consolidated electric pow
er company In return for lion.noo stock.
CHAPTER TX Rumors thnt the govern
ment will call a halt on the dam cause
Grlslow to tell Rrouillard that he is lean
ing to the Cortw'right side to make the
city permanent. Rrouillard denies it.
CHAPTER X—permanent building in
Mfrapolis and a real estate boom are in
full swing when the stoppage of work on
the railroad threatens a panic. Rrouillard
spreads the Masshigalo storv of placer
gold in the river bed and starts a gold
rush.
CHAPTER XT—The gold rush promises
to stop the reclamation project.
CHAPTER XII Amy tells Proulllfu-rl
that her father has Incorporaieil the “I.ti
tle Susai " and Is In Cortwrfght’s clutches
financially. He tells her he has made
1100,000 and declares his love. Amy loves
him but shows him that he has become
demoralized.
CHAPTER XIII—Mnsslngalo's placer
Hold find waa a fraud, but a real find is
made.
CHAPTER XIV-Rrouillard sells his
stock but does not pay his father’s debts
Cortwrlght’s son shoots Steve Massln
gale.
CHAPTER XV — Rrouillard threatens
Cortwrlffht with expos.ire of bad title* to
Mlrapolls land if he pushes Masslncale (■>
the wall. The magnate promises to give
the old man a free field.
“That belli? the case, there is no
help tor It; you'll have to take your
medicine and pay the notes. Do that,
take an iron-clad receipt from the hank
—I’ll write it out for you—and get the
stock released. After that, we'll give
them a whirl for the thirty-three and
a third per cent they have practically
stolen from you.”
The old man’s fa*e. remindful now
of his daughter’s, was a picture of dis
mayed Incertitude.
“I reckon you're forgottin’ that I
hain't got money enough to lift one
edge o’ them notes,” he said gently.
Broulllard had found a piece of blank
paper in his pocket and was rapidly
writing the "ircn-clad” receipt.
"No, 1 hadn’t forgotten. 1 have some
thing ever a hundred thousand dollars
lying idle in the bank. You'll take it
and pay the notes.”
It was a bolt out of a clear sky for
the old man tottering on the brink of
his fourth pit of disaster, and he
evinced his emotion—and the tense
strain of keyed-up nerves—by drop
ping his lifted coffee cup with a crash
into his plate. The little accident was
helpful In Its way—it made a diver
sion—and by the time the wreck was
repaired speech was possible.
“Are you—are you plumb sure you
can spare it?” asked the debtor husk
ily. And then; “I eayn't seem to sort
o’ surround it—all in a bunch, that
way. I knowed J. Wesley had me
down; the ’Susan’s' the only piece o’
real money in this whole blamed free
for-all, and he knows it.”
After they had made their way
through the excited sidewalk ox
changes to the bank, and Broulllard
had written his check, the old man.
with the miraculously-sent bit of res
cue paper in his hand, hesitated.
“There’s one thing—and I’ve got to
spit it out before it's everlastingly too
late. See here, Victor Br'uillard Amy
likes you—thinks a heap of you; a
plumb blind man could see that. But
say, that little girl o’ mine has just
natchurly got to have a free hand when
it comes to pairin’ up, and she won't
never have if she finds out about this.
You ain’t allowin' to use it on her,
Victor?”
Broulllard laughed.
‘‘I'll make a hedging bet and break
even with you, Mr. Massingale,” he
said. “That check is drawn to my or
der, and I have indorsed it. Let me
have it again qnd i’ll get the cash for
you. In that way only the two of us
need know anything about the trans
action; and if I promise to keep tho
secret from Miss Amy. you must prom
ise to keep it from Mr. J. Wesley Oort
wright. Will you Baw it off with me
that way?—-unffl you've made the turn
i on the ore sales?”
David Massingale shook hands on it
with more gratitude, colored this time
with a hearty imprecation. “Dad burn
! you, Victor Br’uiliard, you're a man—
ever' single mill-run of you!” he burst
out. But Brouillard shook his head
gravely.
“No, Mr. Massingale, I’m the little
yellow dog you mentioned a while
back,” he asserted, and then he went
to get the money.
Left alone in the small retiring room
of the bank where the business had
been transacted, David Massingale
took the sheaf of bank notes from his
pocket with trembling hands, fondling
it as a miser might. Twice the old
man made as if he would turn toward
the door of egress, and the light in his
gray-blue eyes was the rekindling
flame of a passion long denied. But
in the end he thrust the tempting
sheaf hack into the inner pocket and
went resolutely to the cashier's coun
ter window, finding Sehermerhorn. the
president, sitting at the cashier’s desk.
‘T’ve come to take up them notes o'
mine with John Wes.’ name on 'em,”
Massingale began, pulling out the thick
sheaf of redemption money.
“H’m, yes here they are. Brought
the cash, did you? The ‘Little Susan'
| has begun to pan out, lias it? I didn't
knew you had commenced shipping ore
yet?”
"We haven't.” David Massingale
made the admission and regretted it in
one and the same breath.
“You've borrowed to meet these
notes?" queried the president, look
ing up quickly. “That won’t do, Mr.
Massingale; that won't do at all. We
can't afford to lose an old customer
that way What’s the matter with our
money? Doesn't it look good to you
any more?”
Massingale stammered out some
thing about Cashier Hardwick's per
emptory demand of a few hours earlier,
but he was net permitted to finish.
“Of course, that is all right from
Hardwick's point of view. He was
merely looking out for the maturing
paper. How much more time will you
need to enable you to get returns from
your shipments? Sixty days? All
right, you needn’t make out new notes;
I’ll indorse the extension on the back
of these, and I'll undertake to get
Cortwright’s approval myself. No; not
a word, Mr. Massingale. As long as
you’re borrowing, you must be loyal
and borrow of us. Good afternoon.
Come again when we can help you
out."
David Massingale turned away,
dazed and confused beyond the power
cf speech. When the mists of astcund
ment cleared he found himself in the
street with ^ie thick wad of bank
notes stili in his pocket. Suddenly,
out of the limbo into which two years
of laborious discipline and self-denial
had pushed it stalked the demon of
the ruling passion, mighty, overpower
ing, unconquerable. The familiar
street sights danced before Mas
singale’s eyes, and there was a drum
ming in his ears like the fall of many
waters. But above the clamor rose
the insistent voice of the tempter, and
I
oiii iiii.i ii7.
X Xv\
"You Borrowed to Meet These Note*?”
the voice was at once a command and
an entreaty, a gnawing hunger and a
parching thirst.
“By gash! I'd like to try that old
system o' mine jest one more time!”
he muttered. “All it takes is money
enough to toiler it up and stay. And
I’ve got the money. Besides, didn’t
Br'uillard say I was to get an exten
sion if I could?”
He grabbed at his coat to be sure
that the packet was still there, took
two steps toward the bank, stopped,
turned as if in the grasp of an invisible
but irresistible captor, and moved
away, like a man walking in his sleep,
toward the lower avenue.
It was the doorway of Haley's place,
the Monte Carlo of the Niquola, that
finally halted him. Here the struggle
was so fierce that the bartender, who
knew him, namod it sickness and led
the stricken one lo a card lableTn the
public bar-room and fetched him a
drink A single swallow of whisky
turned the scale. Massingale rose
tossed a coin to the bar, and passed
quickly to the rear, where a pair oi
baize doors opened silently and en
gulfed him.
pO CHAPTER XVII (21
l The Abyss )
i
It was at early candle-lighting in
the evening of the day of renewed vind
unbridled speculation in Mirapolig
“front feet" that Brouillard. riding the
piebald range pony on which he had
been making an inspection round ol
the nearer Buckskin ditchers’ camps
topped the hill in the new, high-pitched
road over the Chigringo shoulder and
looked down upon the valley electrics
Brouillard let the pony set its own
pace on the down-hill lap to the finish
freshened himself at his rooms in the
Niquoia building, and went to the
Metropole to eat his dinner with Mur
ray Grislow as his vis-a-vis. The buz
zing throngs in the Metropole cafe and
lobby annoyed him, and even Grislow’s
quiet sarcasm as applied to the day's
bubble-blowing failed to clear the air.
At the club there was the same atmos
phere of unrest; an exacerbating over
charge of the suppressed activities irn
patiently waiting for another day oi
excitement and opportunity. Corner
lots and the astounding prices they
had commanded filled the air in the
lounge, the billiard room and the but
fet, and after a few minutes Brouillard
turned his back on the hubbub and
sought the quiet of the darkened build
ing on the opposite side of the street.
He was alone in his office on the
sixth floor and was trying, half absent
ly, to submerge himself in a sea ol
desk work when as distinctly as if she
were present and at his elbow, he
heard, or seemed to hear, Amy Mas
singale say: "Victor, you said yoi
would come if I needed you. I neec
you now.” Without a moment’s hesita
tion he got up and made ready to g(
out.
The Massingale town house was on<
of a row of stuccoed villas fronting or
the main residence street, which be
yond the city limits became the high
road to the Quadjenai bend and the
upper valley. Brouillard took a cab at
the Metropole. dismissed it at the villa
gate, and walked briskly up the path
to the house, which was dark save for
one lighted room on the second floor—
the room in which Stephen Massingale
was recovering from the effects of Van
Bruce Cortwright s pistol shot.
Amy Massingale was on the porch
—waiting for him as he fully believed
until her greeting sufficiently proved
her surprise at seeing him.
"You, Victor?” she said, coming
quickly to meet him. "Murray Gris
low said you had gone down to the
Buckskin camps and wouldn't be back
for two or three days!"
“I changed my mind and came back.
How is Steve this evening?”
"He is quite comfortable, more com
fortable than he has been at all since
the wound began to heal. I have been
reading him to sleep, and when the
night nurse came 1 ran down to get a
oreath of fresh air in the open."
"No, you didn’t come down for that
reason," Brouillard amended gravely.
’ You came to meet me.”
. “Did I?" she asked. "What makes
you think that?”
“I know what happened,” said Brou
lilard, speaking as soberly as if he
were stating a mathematical certainty.
"You left that room upstairs and came
to me'. I didn't see you, but I heard
you as plainly as I can hear you now.
tou spoke to me and called me by
name."
She shook her head, laughing lightly.
“You have been overwrought about
something, or maybe you are just plain
lired.”
“You are standing me off.” lie de
clared. “You are in trouble of some
sort, and you are trying to hide it from
nae.”
"No, not exactly trouble; only a lit
tle worry.”
"All right, call it worry if you like
and share it with me. What is it?’
“I think you know without being
told. I am afraid we have finally lo3t
i the ‘Little Susan.’ That is one of the
worries and the other I've been trying
j to call silly. I don’t know wliat has
become of father—as if he weren’t old
enough to go and come without telling
me every move he makes!"
“Your father isn’t at home?” gasped
Brouillard.
"No; he hasn't been here since nine
i o’clock this morning. Murray Grislow
saw him going into the Metropole
about one o'clock, but nobody that I
nave been able to reach by phone
seems to have seen him after that."
“I can bring the record down to two
o’clock,” was the quick reply. “He ate
with me at Bongras’ and afterward I
walked with him as far as the bank.
And I can cure part of the first worry
—all of it, in fact; he had the money
to take up the Cortwright notes, and
when I left him he was on his way to
| IlaTJlwlciv's winnow to (!o It."" -
"He had the money? Where did he
! (ret it?”
Brouillard put his back against a
; porch post, a change of position which
kept the light of the street electric
from shining squarely upon his face.
“It has been another of the get-rlch
quick days in Mirapolis," he said
evasively. “Somebody told me that the
corner opposite Poodles' was bought
and sold three times within a single
hour and that each time the price was
doubled.”
“And you are trying to tell me that
father made a hundred thousand dol
lars just in those few hours by buying
and selling Mirapolis lots? You don't
know him. Victor. He is totally lack
ing the trading gift. He has often said
that he couldn’t stand on a street cor
ner and sell twenty dollar gold pieces
at nineteen dollars apiece—nobody
would buy of him.”
"Nevertheless, I am telling you that
he had the money to take up those
notes,” Brouillard insisted. "1 saw it
in his hands.”
She stood fairly in the beam of the
street light. The violet eyes were
misty, and in the low voice there was
a note of deeper trouble.
"You say you saw the money in fa
ther’s hands; tell me, Victor, did you
see him pay it into the bank?”
“Why, no; not the final detail. But,
as I say, when I left him he was on his
way to Hardwick’s window.”
Again she turned away, but this time
it was to dart into the house. A min
ute later she had rejoined him, and the
minute had sufficed for the donning of
a coat and the pinning on of the quaint
cowboy riding hat.
“1 must go and find him,” she said
with quiet resolution. “Will you go
with me, Victor? Perhaps that is why
I—the subconscious 1—called you a lit
tle while ago. Let’s not wait for the
Quadjenai car. I'd rather walk, and
we'll save time.”
From the moment of outsetting the
young woman's purpose seemed clear
ly defined. By the shortest way she
indicated the course to the avenue,
and at the Metropole corner she turned
unhesitatingly to the northward—to
ward the region of degradation.
As was to be expected after the day
of frantic speculation and quick money
changing, the lower avenue was ablaze
with light, the sidewalks were passes
of peril, and the saloons and dives
were reaping a rich harvest. Luckily,
Brouillard was well known, and his
position as chief cf the great army of
government workmen purchased some
! tiling like immunity for himself and
; his companion. But more than once he
I was on the point of begging the young
woman tc turn back for her own sake.
The quest ended unerringly at the
; door of Haley's place, and when David
Massingale’s daughter made as if she
would go in, Brouillard protested
quickly.
“No, Amy,” he said firmly. “You
mustn’t go in there. Let me take you
around to the Mecrcpole, and then I’ll
come back alone.”
“I have been in worse places,” she
; returned in low tones. And then, with
her voice breaking tremulously: “Be
my good friend just a little longer, Vic
tor!”
He took her arm and walked her
into the garishly-lighted bar-room,
bracing himself militantly for what
l might happen. But nothing happened.
! Dissipation of the western variety sel
dom sinks below the level of a certain
rude gallantry, quick fo recognize the
good and pure in womankind. Instant
UtL._I
“It's All Gone, Little Girl; It's All
Gone.”
; ly a hush foil upon the place. The
j quartets at the card tables held their
hands, and a group of men drinking at
the bar put down their glasses. One. a
Tri'-Circ' cowboy with his back turned,
let slip an oath, and in a single swift
motion his nearest comrade garroted
him with a hairy arm, strangling him
to silence.
As it' guided by the same unerring
Instinct which had made her choose
Haley’s out of the dozen similar hells,
Amy Massingale led Brouillard swiftly
to the green baize doors at the rear
of the bar-room. At her touch the
swinging doors gave inward, and her
goal was reached.
Three faro games, each with its in
laid table, its impassive dealer, its
I armed "lookout,” and its ring of silent
players, lay beyond the baize doors. At
the nearest of the tables there was a
»tir, and the dealer stopped running
the cards. Somebody said, "Let him
get out," and then an olcf man, beard
ed, white-haired, wild-eyed, and hag
gard almost beyond recognition,
rushed lns"efiair away from tue la'uiu
and stumbled to his feet, his hands
clutching the air like those of a swim
mer sinking for the last time.
With a low cry the girl darted across
the intervening space to clasp the stag
gering old man in her arms and draw
him away. Brouillard stood aside as
they came slowly toward the doors
which he was holding open for them.
He saw the distorted face-mask of a
soul in torment and heard the mum
bling repetition of the despairing
words. "It's all gone, little girl; it’s all
gone!" and then he removed himself
quickly beyond the range of the star
ing, unseeing eyes.
For in the lightning flash of reveal
ment he realized that once again the
good he would have done had turned
to hideous evil in the doing, and that
this time the sword thrust of the blind
passion impulse had gone straight to
the heart of love itself.
CHAPTER XVIII
Contrary to the most sanguine ex
pectations of the speculators —con'*
trary, perhaps, even to those of Mr. J.
Wesley Cortwrlght—the upward surge
in Mirapolis values, following the visit
of the “distinguished citizens," proved
to be more than a tidal wave; It was
a series of them. Day after day the
"curb" markets were reopened, with
prices mounting skyward; and when
i the news of how fortunes could be
made in a day in the Miracle city of
the Niquoia got abroad in the press dis
patches there was a fresh influx of mad
money hunters from the East.
Now, ir never before, the croaker
was wrathfully shouted down and si
lenced. No one admitted, or seemed to
admit, the possible impermanence of
the city.
To the observer, anxious or casual,
there appeared to be reasonable
grounds for the optimistic assertion. It
was an indubitable fact that Brouil
lard’s force had been cut down, first to
one-half, and later to barely enough
| men to keep the crushers and mixers
moving and to add fresh layers of con
| Crete to the huge wall of sufficient
quantities to prevent the material—in
technical phrase—from “dying." The
Navajos had been sent home to their
reservation, the tepees were gone, and
1 two-thirds of the camp shacks were
| empty.
Past these material facts it wap
| known to everybody in the frenzied
market place that Brouillard himself
| was. according to his means, one of
j the most reckless of the plungers, buy
ing, borrowing, and buying again as 11
the future hel 1 no threat of a possible
debacle. It was an object lesson foi
the timid. Those who did not them
selves know certainly argued that
there must be a few who did know
and among these few the chief of tbt
reclamation service must be in the
very foremost rank.
For the better part of a fortnight thf
tidal waves cf prosperity, as evinced
by increasing speculative values, kepi
on rolling in, each one apparently a lit
tle higher than its immediate prede
cessor. Then the flood began to sub
side, though so slowly that at first il
was only by a careful comparison ol
the daily transfers that the recession
could be measured.
Causes and consequences extraneous
to the city itself contributed to the al
most imperceptible reactionary ten
dency. Far one, the Buckskin Minine
and Milling company reluctantly aban
doned its pastime of plowing btrron j
furrows on Jack's mountain, and a lit- \
tie later went into liquidation, ms the
phrase ran, though the eastern bond
holders probably called It bankruptcy
About the same time the great reinont
plant, deprived of the gai siT.taam
market by the slackening of the work
cn the dam, reduced its output to lt'3»
than one-fourth of its full capacity
Most portentous of ail, perhaps, was
the rumor that the placers at Quad
jenal were beginning to show s'gns ol
exhaustion. It was even whispered
about that the two huge gold dredges
recently installed wpre not paying the
expenses of’operating them.
Quite naturally, the pulse of tha
Wonder city beat sensitive to all these
depressive rumors and incidents, re
sponding slowly at first but a little
later in accelerated throbbings whioh
could no longer be ignored by tuo moat
optimistic bidder at the “curb" ex
changes.
Still there was no panic. As the ac
tivities in local sales fell off and the
Mirapolitans themselves were no long
er crowding the curbs or standing in
line at (he real estate offices for their
turn at the listings, the prudent ones,
with Mr. Cortwrlght and his chosen
associates far in advance of the field,
were placing Mirapolis holdings tempt
ingly on view in distant markets; plac
ing them and selling them with
blazonry of advertising worthy of the
envy of those who hgvo called tneni
selves the suburb builders cf Greater
New York.
It was after this invasion of the dis
tant market was fully iu train that
Cortwrlght once more sent for Brouil
lard, receiving the engineer (his Mnrs
in the newest offices of the power com
pany, on the many times-bought-and
sold corner opposite Bongras’.
"Hello, Brouillard!" said the mag
nate jocosely, indicating a chair and
the never absent open box of cigars in
the same gesiure. “You're gutting to
be as much of a stranger as 9 man
might wish his worst enemy to be.”
“You sent for me?' Brouillard broke
In tersely. More and more ho was
coming to acknowledge a dull rui
when ho heard the cun ot ills master
■ “Yes. What about the dam? Is you
work going to start up again? Or Is i
going off for good?”
Ilroufllard "6Tt I'fi Up to keep back
the exclamation of astoundment that
the blunt Inquiry threatened to evoke.
To assume that Mr. Cortwrlght did not
know all there was to be known waa
to credit the Incredible.
I "I told you a good while ago that I
was only the government’s hired man,"
he replied. "You doubtless have much
better information than any 1 can give
j you.”
"You can tell me what your orders
are—that’s what I want to know.”
The young chief of construction
frowned first, then he laughed.
"What has given you the impression
that you own me, Mr. Cortwrlght? I
have often wondered."
j "Well, I might say that I have made
you what you are, and—”
“That'B true; the truest thing you
ever said,” snapped Brouillard.
I "And, 1 was going to add, I can un
make you Just as easily. But I don't
want to be savage with you. All I’m
asking is a little information first, and
a little Judicious help afterward. What
are your orders from the department?’’
Brouillard got up and stood over the
Btocky man in the office chair, with the
black eyes blazing.
| "Mr. Cortwrlght, I said a moment ago
that you have made mo what 1 am,
and you have. 1 am infinitely a worse
man than you are, because I know bet
ter and you don't. It is no excuse for
me that I have had a motive which I
haven’t explained to you, because, as I
once told you, you couldn’t understand
ft in a thousand years. The evil has
been done and the consequences, to
you, to me, and to everyone in this
cursed valley are certain. Facing them
as I am obliged to face them, I am tell
ing you—but what’s the use? You
can't make a tool of me any longer—
that's all. You must cook your meat
over your own fire. I’m out of it.”
"I can smash you.” said (he man in
the chair, quite without heat.
"No, you can’t even do that,” was
the equally cool retort. "No man's
fate is in another man's hands.”
He was moving toward the door, but
Cort wright stopped him.
"One more word before you go,
Brouillard. It is to be war between us
from this on?”
"I don't say that. It would be awk
ward for us both now. Let is he
armed neutrality if you like. Don’t in
terfere with me and I won't interfere
with you.”
“Ah!” said the millionaire. "Now
you have brought it around to the
point I was trying to reach. You don't
want to have anything more to do
with me, but you are not quite ready
to cash in and pull out of the game.
How much money have you got?”
The cool impudence of the question
brought a dull flush to the young man’s
face, but he would give the enemy no
advantage in the matter of superior
;elf-control.
"That is scarcely a fair questlon-.
■ven between armed neutrals,” he ob
ected. "Why do you want to knew?"
"I’m asking because you have Just
'roposed the noninterference policy,
ind I’d like to know how fairly ycu
I (lean to live up to it. A little while
i >ack you interfered in a small busl
_I
3rouillard Got Up and Stood Over
the Stocky Man in the Office Chair.
less matter of mine very pointedly.
What became of the one hundred thou
and dollars you gave old David Mas
di-gale?”
“How do you know I gave him a
umdred thousand dollars?"
“That’s dead easy,” laughed the man
in the pivot chair, once more the genial
luoeaneer. "You drew a check for that
tinount and cashed It, and a few min
ites later Masslr.gale, whose account
•iad been drawn down to nothing, bobs .
up at Schernierhorn's window with ex
actly the same amount In loose cash.
What did he do with It—gamble It?"
“That Is his own affair,” Broulllarrt
countered briefly.
"Well, the future—licit month’s fu
ture—Is my affair. If you've got money
enough to interfere again—don’t.
You'll lose it, the same as you did be
fore. And perhaps 1 sha'n’t tRke the
8econd Interference as good-naturedly
as I did the first.”
“Is that all you have to say”’ Brou
illard asked impatiently.
“Not quite. 1 don't believe you w.una
altogether In earnest a minute ag.»
when you expressed your desire to call
It all off. You don’t want the Mlrapiw
Its well to go dry right now, not one bit
more than I do."
(.Continued Next Week.;
Let us do your job printing.
4