“Of course, I want to help you, Miss, and since you put it that way, all right. You say I can go the limit?”
“Yes! Yes!”
The bartender retired behind his bar and returned with a pail of water. He removed the young editor’s hat.
“Stand back, Miss; it’s ice cold,” he said; and with a swing of his pudgy arms he sent the water about Harper’s head, neck, and upper body.
The young fellow staggered up with a gasping cry. His blinking eyes saw the bartender, with the empty pail. He reached for the tumbler before him.
“Damn you, Murphy!” he growled. “I’ll pay you——”
But Katherine stepped quickly forward and touched his dripping sleeve.
“Mr. Harper!” she said.
He slowly turned his head. Then the hand with the upraised tumbler sank to the table, and he stared at her.