"Oh, yes, he will," Sophie asserted confidently. "In about twenty

minutes."

Thompson looked at her, startled a little by this bland assertion.

"We'll be home in about twenty minutes," she explained.

"But I'm--why take the trouble?" he asked bluntly. "I'm out of your

orbit entirely. Or do you want to exhibit me as a horrible example?"

"You're downright rude," she laughed. "Or you would be if you were

serious. Do you mind coming to see dad? And I'd like to hear more about

your trip across the mountains with Tommy Ashe."

Thompson pricked up his ears.

"Oh, you know about that, eh?" he remarked. "How--"

"Not as much as I'd like to," she interrupted. "Will you come?"

"Yes," he agreed. "But give a fellow a chance. Don't drag me into your

home looking like this. I'm not vain, but I'd feel more comfortable in

clean clothes. I shipped all my things into town. They should be in the

express office now. I'll come this afternoon or this evening, whichever

you say. Drop me off at the first carline."

"I'll do better than that," she declared. "I'll drive you downtown

myself."

"But it isn't necessary," he persisted. "I don't want to take up all

your time, and--"

"For the rest of this day," Sophie murmured, "I have absolutely nothing

to do but kill time. I get restless, and being out in the car cures that

feeling. Do you mind if I chauff you a few miles more or less? Don't be

ungallant. I love to drive."

"Oh, well."

Thompson mentally threw up his hands. In that gracious mood Sophie was

irresistible. He sank back in the thick, resilient upholstery and

resolved to take what the gods provided--to dance as it were, and reckon

with the piper when he presented his bill.




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