“Oh, Neale!”

“No. I know Mr. Maynard. He’s a perfectly square man, I am sure. I don’t suppose he ever noticed Saleratus Joe until I called his attention to him.”

“Where do you suppose they have gone?” queried the girl, starting on another tack.

“Who?”

“That Joe and the Brady man.”

“Ask me an easier one,” laughed Neale O’Neil.

“But can’t we do anything about it if we run across them?” she cried.

“Joe and Brady?” gasped Neale, in wonder.

“Yes.”

Neale eyed her quizzically for a long half minute—that is, with one eye. The other he kept faithfully on the road ahead.