“The schoolteacher? Nice little woman like that! Pepper, why couldn't you pick on one of these Middleville gossips or society dames?”
“Lord—I didn't know who she was—until after—and I couldn't have helped it anyway,” he replied, mopping his red face. “When—I saw her—and she recognized me—I nearly died.... It was at White's Confectionery Den. And I'm afraid some people saw me.”
“Well. You old duffer! And you say you admire this lady very much?”
“Indeed I do. I call on her.”
“Colonel, your name is Dennis,” replied Lane, with merciless humor. “It serves you right.”
The little man evidently found relief in his confession and in Lane's censure.
“I'm cured forever,” he declared vehemently. “And say, Lane, I've been looking for you. Have you been at my rooms lately—you know—to take a peep?”
“I have not,” replied Lane, turning sharply. A slight chill went over him. “I thought that club stuff was off.”
“Off—nothing,” whispered Colonel Pepper, drawing Lane aside. “Swann and his strong-arm gang just got foxy. They quit for a while. Now they're rushing the girls in there—say from four to five—and in the evenings a little while, not too late. Oh, they're the slick bunch, picking out the ice cream soda hour when everybody's downtown.... You run up to my rooms right now. And I'll gamble——”
“I'll go,” interrupted Lane, grimly.
Not fifteen minutes before he had seen his sister Lorna and a chum, Gail Williams, go into White's place. Lane's pulse quickened. As he started to go he ran into Blair Maynard who grasped at him: “What's hurry, old scout?”
“Blair, I'm never in a hurry if you want me. But the fact is I've got rather urgent business. How about to- morrow?”
“Sure. Meet you here. I just wanted to unload on you, Dare. Looks as if my mother has hatched it up between Margie and our esteemed countryman, Richard Swann.”
It was not often that Lane cursed, but he did so now.
“But Blair, didn't you
“Well, I'll say I did,” replied Blair, sardonically. “Cut no ice whatever. She didn't believe. She didn't care for any proofs. All rich young men had their irregularities!... Good God! Doesn't it make you sick?”
“But how about Holt Dalrymple?”
“Holt's turned over a new leaf. He's working hard, and I think he has taken a tumble to himself. Listen to this. He met Margie with Dick Swann out at one of the lake dances—Watkins' Lake. And he cut her dead. I'm sorry for Margie. She sure is rank poison these days.... Well, speak of the devil!”
Holt Dalrymple collided with them at the entrance of the inn. The haggard, sullen, heated look that had characterized him was gone. He was sunburned, and his dark eyes were bright. He greeted his friends warmly. They chatted for a moment. Then Lane grew thoughtful, all the while gazing at Holt.
“What's the idea?” queried that worthy, presently. “Anything wrong with me?”
“Boy, you're just great. Seeing you has done me good.... You ask what's the idea. Holt, would you do me a favor?”
“Would I? Listen to the guy,” returned young Dalrymple. “Daren, I'd do any old thing for you.”
“Do you happen to know Bessy Bell?” went on Lane.
Dalrymple quickened with surprise. “Yes, I know her. Some little peach!... I almost ran into her down on West Street a few minutes ago. She wore a white veil. She didn't see me, or recognize me. But I sure knew her. She was almost running. I bet a million to myself she had a date at the club.”
“You lose, Holt,” replied Lane, shortly. “Bessy Bell is one Middleville kid who has come clean through this mess.”
“Say Dare, I like to hear you talk,” responded Blair, half in jest and half in earnest. “But aren't you getting a trifle unbalanced? That's how my mother apologizes for me.”
“Cut the joshing, boys. Listen,” returned Lane. “And don't ever tell this to a soul. I interested myself in Bessy Bell. I've met her more times than I can count. I wanted to see if it was possible to turn one of these girls around. I failed on my sister Lorna. But Bessy Bell is true blue. She had all this modern tommyrot. She had everything else too. Brains, sweetness, common sense, romance. All I tried to do was to make her forget the tommyrot. And I think I did.”
“Well, I'll be darned!” ejaculated Blair. “Dare, that was ripping fine of you.... What'll you do next, I wonder.”
“Come on with your favor,” added Holt, with a keen bright smile.
“Would you be willing to see Bessy occasionally—and sort of be nice to her—you know?” asked Lane, earnestly. “I can't keep up my attention to her much longer. She might miss me. Take it from me, Holt, back of all this modern stuff—deep in Bessy, and in every girl who has not been debased—is the simple and good desire to be liked.”
“Daren, I'll do that little thing, believe me,” returned Holt, warmly.
Shaking hands with his friends, Lane left them, and went on his way. White's place was full as a beehive. As he passed, Lane found himself looking for Bessy Bell's golden head, though he knew he would not see it. He wondered if Holt had really met her, veiled and in a hurry. That had a strange look. But no shadow of distrust of Bessy came to Lane. In a few moments he reached the dark stairway leading to Colonel Pepper's apartment. Lane forgot he was weak. But at the top, with his breast laboring, he remembered well enough. He went into the Colonel's rooms and through them without making a light. And when he reached the place where he had spied upon the club he was wet with sweat and shaking with excitement. Carefully, so as not to make noise, he stole to the
