"Nerve—not at all," replied Harrowby. "He's as safe as a child in its own nursery. He knows as well as anybody that the last thing I'd do would be to appeal to the police. Too much publicity down that road. Well?"
"His price is a bit cheaper than Gabrielle's."
"Yes, but not cheap enough. I'm broke, old boy. The governor and I are on very poor terms. Shouldn't think of appealing to him."
"We might pawn Chain Lightning's Collar," Minot suggested.
"Never! There must be some way—only three days before the wedding. We mustn't lose on the stretch, old boy."
A pause. Minot sat glumly.
"Have you no suggestion?" Harrowby asked anxiously.
"I have not," said Minot, rising. "But I perceive clearly that it now devolves on little Dicky Minot to up and don his fighting armor once more."
"Really, old boy, I'm sorry," said Harrowby. "I'm hoping things may quiet down a bit after a time."
"So am I," replied Minot with feeling. "If they don't I can see nervous prostration and a hospital cot ahead for me. You stay here and study the marriage service—I'm going out on the broad highway again."