"Mr. Fort"—when his mirth had subsided—"I only wish your judgment was as sound as your optimism! Tell me—do you intend to make yourself ruler of a bigger world than this?"
Fort dropped his seriousness for an instant. "To tell the truth, Powart, I haven't any plan at all—yet. Thanks for the exemption. In return, I assure you that whatever I do will be as truly in the interests of the people as what you have done."
Powart eyed him keenly. For a moment Van Emmon thought he would try to learn if Fort had any suspicions. But he said nothing further than a curt, "The audience is ended."
A few minutes later Billie, through Mona, knew that Fort was reporting progress. He did it by telephone.
"Thought you'd like to know," he finished. "Hope I didn't rouse you out of bed."
It was night in Mona's part of the world, and Billie had come upon the girl just as she was preparing for bed.
"Thank you," she said, through a tremendous yawn. "I was just about to retire. Good luck"—another yawn—"and good—"
Her voice changed. "Mr. Fort!" sharply. "Powart's declaration of war on Alma is a frame-up! Never mind how I happen to know; it is true; they are not planning to invade us at all! He trumped up this affair in order to make himself dictator!"
"What!" The athlete was astounded. "Are you sure of this, Mona?"
The girl's manner had changed again. "I beg your pardon?" she inquired, vastly confused. "Did I say something that—why, I am not aware, Mr. Fort, that I had said anything more than 'good night'!"