The Fighting Shepherdess

Mrs. Toomey expressed her gratitude incoherently.

"You must leave your name and address; we'll mail you a check to-morrow."

"I always stay at the Auditorium. Mail addressed to me there will be forwarded." He laid his visiting card upon the table.

Toomey placed a detaining hand upon his arm as he turned from the table.

"Look here! Won't let you go till you promise come make us a visit--stay month--stay year--stay rest o' your life--la'sh string hanging' out for you. Pure air, Swizzerland of America, an' greatest natural resources--"

The stranger detached himself gently.

"I appreciate your hospitality," he replied courteously. "Who knows?" to Mrs. Toomey, "I might some day look in on you--I've never been out in that section of the country."

With another bow he paid his own account and left the restaurant.

"Thoroughbred!" declared Toomey enthusiastically. "Old Dear, I made a hit with him."

Mrs. Toomey was staring after the erect commanding figure.

She read again the name on the card she held in her fingers and murmured with an expression of speculative wonder: "The spelling's different but--Prentiss! and she looks enough like him to be his daughter."