“Perhaps that’s it,” returned the young man.
“Yes,” continued Shirley, “my twin brother is often getting into scrapes, and I have to help him out. He told me that the other day he almost fell into the hands of the police, because he didn’t have money to pay for a soda he bought in a drugstore in Cincinnati. Some stranger came to his aid and paid the dime. I don’t believe he returned it, either.”
The young man had looked at Shirley in surprise during this recital, and then he said quietly:
“How do you know?” queried Shirley in well simulated surprise.
“Because I happen to be the fellow who paid it.”
Before answering Shirley reached for her handbag and took out a card. She gazed at it long and earnestly.
“Is your name Mr. Wolfe?” she asked finally.
“Why, yes,” exclaimed the young man. “Why?”
“Nothing, only my brother, in telling me of the trouble, showed me your card and I didn’t give it back.”