Under the Law

by Edwina Stanton Babcock

"Say, I'll cut it out," he pledged. "I'll drop the story; I can't speak for the girls, Cinny and Gert and all, they've been having a lot of fun with Minga in the dressing-room; she took a good deal of guying, they say. Of course," advised Tawny patronizingly, "you ought to let her know it has made a difference in her popularity."

Just then Dunstan came up. He shoved past Troop, ignoring him while he elbowed him. "Sard," he said clearly, "I must ask you to stop talking to this—er—cad. He has been discussing a friend of yours, our friend,—well, I think we don't need him in our vicinity."

"Your friend will need you both all right," muttered Tawny vindictively; "she'll need you both for dance partners and—and everything else!"

As the groups on the piazza filtered back to the ballroom, Sard seized her brother's coat sleeve. "Go and get Minga quickly," she said, "and Mr. Shipman if you can. Oh, quick, before she realizes."

Dunstan looked at her, his eyes quick with passionate fire. "So you've heard," he said wonderingly. "Well, that chap is about the lowest skunk; they don't have hells for that kind," said the boy bitterly, "they just let them stew in their own juice." But his sister would not listen; she was thinking quickly.

"Go get them, dear; tell them to come out here and then order some ice-cream and we'll make a little party of our own."

Hastily Sard devised a way to shield Minga; instinctively she thought of Shipman. "Get Watts, too," she urged. Dunstan saw how dark her eyes were and wondered. He half smiled. "Old Doomsday book and Sard," he half chuckled under his perturbation. "What a couple of old nuts, yet not so bad, either." Then he thought of Colter and bit his lips.

But Dunstan, hurrying for the door and seizing Minga where she stood proud, bewildered, and alone, grabbed her in true "cutting-in" fashion. "Gee, I've been waiting for this chance," he breathed. "I say, Minga, don't you dance with your host even once in the evening?"

She shot a swift look at him. "Dunce," in a low voice, "the Bunch think I'm—not—nice—they've been saying things; it was Gertrude, I think," Minga mocked with her little face. Her red lips quivered, and Dunstan, with a curious look of man determination, steered her into an increasing velocity and brilliancy of step. "Bing! this is good music," breathed the boy. "All right, Minga, old sport, eyes right, head up, what? The rest of them are caterpillars and worms, what? And Tawny Troop is—is—is a butterlion—not even a chocolate pussy in a Christmas stocking!"

The gay rallying brought the bright blood to the vivid little face. Minga threw back her head and her gay laugh pealed out, which was what Dunce wanted. "Where's Shipman?" he asked, lips close to the fluttering little head. Again the face clouded and poor Dunstan, his resources at an end, gave her Sard's message. "Say!" he tried to challenge the girl, tried to help her keep the sweet gay insouciance, the so-called "pep" that was Minga's greatest asset....