“Two weeks. You’re my second—arrest.”
“Who was the first?”
“So Long Sam.”
She sat upright.
“Are you the man who caught So Long Sam? Every one has been afraid to tackle him. I’d never have thought it of you!”
“Why?” he asked curiously, not proof against the masculine enjoyment of hearing himself analyzed in spite of his reluctance to talk to her. “Do I seem such a weakling I couldn’t take one man?”
“No; you look like you’d take a red-hot stove if you wanted to; but they said—Say; is your maiden name ‘Kurt?’ No! It can’t be.”
“Why not?”
“Because they called the man who took So Long Sam, ‘Kind Kurt.’ You haven’t been over-kind to me till just lately. Whirling me over sands in that awful fore-shortened car.”
“It must be better,” he said dryly, “than the kind you’ve been used to.”