Jewel Weed

"Have you been out of town, Dick?" Madeline asked as he came up. "I

tried to get you over the telephone a day or two ago, and they told me

you were away."

"Yes." He laughed exultantly as he sat down. "I ran down to the

penitentiary at Easton, just to make sure that I wasn't mistaken in a

fact or two."

"What now?" asked Norris.

"I've been told that Barry--the lord of St. Etienne, Madeline--is at

last tired of his humble but powerful place, and intends to show himself

the master that he really is by running himself for our next mayor. Now

even this docile city would hardly exalt a man whom it knew to be a

criminal with a record of two years in the pen,--under another name, of

course."

"Is it possible that Barry--"

"I've verified my facts. There is only one man in the city besides

myself that knows this, and he's Barry's closest friend. There'll be a

jolly old sensation in the bunch, when I spring my mine."

"If nobody knows it, how did you happen to find out?" asked Madeline

impulsively.

There was just a moment's silence, and in that instant Norris had a

flash of memory. He seemed to see Dick eying a letter addressed to

William Barry, Esquire. Even while he remembered, he hated himself for

daring to suspect that Dick would be capable of anything really shabby

or dishonorable. Yet he did suspect--nay, more--he was sure; and the

pause, the look of innocent inquiry on Madeline's face grew intolerable.

If Dick would say nothing, he, Norris, must.

"We newspaper men," he rushed in gaily, "get hold of a vast amount of

information that people flatter themselves is secret."

Percival looked at him and grinned. The girl turned slowly from her

amused survey of Dick to study Ellery's face, which showed his

discomfort in its flush. If a girl so gentle could feel scorn, Ellery

would have thought he detected a touch of it. Certainly there was a hint

of grieved surprise as she spoke, with her eyes still fixed on Norris.

"I'm very sorry, Dick," she said humbly. "I didn't mean to be prying.

I've grown so used to asking you about everything. Mr. Norris ought to

get a better mask."

She laughed lightly, but Ellery's face grew hotter. He wondered if she

suspected him of some underhand trickery, and Dick realized it, yet kept

amused silence. For an instant he hated Dick, and felt a wild impulse to

defend himself; but second thoughts came quickly. She loved Dick and was

therefore slow to impute evil to him. Dick loved her, and if he had for

once played the petty knave, it was the place of a friend to protect her

against that knowledge. That had been the instinctive reason for Norris'

words, and he was not going back on them now. Yet Ellery's brain whirled

to think how swiftly and by what simple means he might have toppled her

slowly-ripening friendship into the mire. Ellery's imagination piled

superlatives on every act and expression of his lady. If she looked

light disapproval, it was worse than another's scorn. And Dick--for

whom he had thrown away the thing he most valued in the world--Dick

exclaimed gaily: "Don't be suspicious, Madeline. Are all secrets disgraceful? Can't you

trust your old friends?"