The professor told how he had found them together that afternoon.
"Oh, is that all?" laughed Phil.
"But surely, Mr. Acton, you do not think that a man of that fellow's evident brutal instincts is a fit associate for a young woman of Miss Reid's character and refinement."
"Perhaps not," admitted Phil, still laughing, "but I guess Kitty can take care of herself."
"I do not agree with you, sir," said the other authoritatively. "A young woman of Miss Reid's—ah—spirituality and worldly inexperience must always be, to a certain extent, injured by contact with such illiterate, unrefined, and, I have no doubt, morally deficient characters."
"But, look here, Professor," returned Phil, still grinning, "what do you expect me to do about it? I am not Kitty Reid's guardian. Why don't you talk to her yourself?"
"Really," returned the little man, "I—there are reasons why I do not see my way clear to such a course. I had hoped that you might keep an eye on the fellow, and, if necessary, use your authority over him to prevent any such incidents in the future."
"I'll see what I can do," answered Phil, thinking how the Dean would enjoy the joke. "But, look here; Kitty was with you when you got to the ranch. What became of Patches? Run, did he, when you appeared on the scene?"
"Oh, no; he went away with a—with a maverick."
"Went away with a maverick? What, in heaven's name, do you mean by that?"