“Your Harfy. Maybe you can impress him with the desirability of obeying orders. Got to confess I failed.”
“You precious puzzle!”—the young lady of to-day. “You aren’t—Oh, you are—you are!”
“Are I—just what?”
“Jealous, you silly! Haven’t I told you that Harfy long ago gave up hopes of me, that he is as naught to me—ab-so-lutely naught more than a friend who——”
“At that, he’s more to you than he’s shown himself to me,” Pape interposed with point.
Harford pulled up his mount’s head with something the decisive fling of his own. “I admit that I give orders better than take them. Come, Jane. Come, Irene. Maybe I can get you out of this mess yet without unpleasant consequences.”
“And maybe, Jane, the consequences ain’t going to be so plumb unpleasant,” Pape contested her attention with something the seriousness he had shown at the foot of the Sturgis’ steps. “In a certain some one else’s little matter of unfinished business that’s demanding my time and attention right now, I have pressing need of one assistant. Are you—do you feel—well, willing?”
“But, Why Not, why not me?” Irene prevented immediate reply from her cousin; spurred her mount close beside the obviously fastidious Polkadot; at last dropped her battered-looking bunch of roses to clasp the Westerner’s arm. “You know that I—And I know that you—Don’t you, dar-rling—or do you? I am sure that I’m not ashamed of—of—You know. That is, I ain’t if you aren’t. Of course Jane is calmer than I, but who wants to be calm nowadays? I’m the one that’s willing and then some to tag along with you into difficulty and danger and——”
Harford, heated of face and manner, interrupted.
“No one’s going to tag with him into any more difficulty or danger. You girls are going to keep your agreement, aren’t you? You’re both coming peacefully along with me, now that I’ve let you wait long enough to see that this person, rightly entitled ‘The Impossible,’ is safe.”