"The—the boy was a girl?"
"It would seem so."
"Then——" Johnson Boller stopped, teeth shutting suddenly. He stared at the young woman and he stared at Anthony Fry, who smiled faintly and hopelessly. His face grew red and then purple and then black.
"Hah!" he cried savagely. "I've got it! I've got it, you—you——"
"Hey?" said Anthony.
"I see it now!" Mr. Boller vociferated surprisingly. "You framed this thing up on me!"
CHAPTER VIII
Scorned
Anthony's brain, accustomed to the most precise and unexciting of routines, was tired—not nearly so tired as it was destined to become, yet too tired to grasp at once the significance of that flaming countenance. He could no more than stand limply and look at Johnson Boller, as that gentleman, ignoring Mary altogether, strode down upon him with clenched fists.