The Fighting Shepherdess

Mrs. Toomey, crimson with mortification and panic-stricken as visions of a patrol wagon and station house rose before her, interrupted when Toomey would have continued to argue.

"Jap, stay here while I go to the hotel--I can take a taxi and be back in a few minutes."

Toomey refused indignantly. He declared that not only would this be a reflection upon his honesty, but equivalent to pawning him.

"How'd I know," he demanded shrewdly, "that you'd ever come back to redeem me?"

As Mrs. Toomey cast a look of despair about, her eyes met those of the man who was sitting alone at the table across the aisle. Even in her distress she had observed him when he had entered, for his height, breadth of shoulder, erectness of carriage--together with the tan and a certain unconventional freedom of movement which, to the initiated, proclaimed him an outdoor westerner, made him noticeable.

He was fifty--more, possibly--with hair well grayed and the face of a man to whom success had not come easily. Yet that he had succeeded was not to be doubted, for neither his face nor bearing were those of a man who could be, or had been, defeated. His appearance--substantial, unostentatious--inspired confidence in his integrity and confidence in his ability to cope with any emergency. The lines in his strong face suggested something more than the mere marks of obstacles conquered, of battles lost and won in the world of business--they came from a deeper source than surface struggles. His mouth, a trifle austere, had a droop of sadness, and in his calm gray eyes there was the look of understanding which comes not only from wide experience but from suffering.

Mrs. Toomey had the feeling that he comprehended perfectly every emotion she was experiencing--her fright, her mortification, her disgust at Jap's maudlin speech and foolish appearance. But it was something more than these things which had caused her to look at him frequently. He reminded her of some one, yet she could not identify the resemblance. In their exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then he rose immediately and came over.

"May I be of service, brother?" As he spoke he indicated the small button he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. With a slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, "If you'll allow me--"

The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate.

"These situations are a little awkward for the moment," he added, smiling slightly.

"Mighty nice of you, Old Top!" Toomey shook hands with him. "Lemme buy you somethin'. Wha'll you have?"

The stranger declined and thanked him.