"One moment, Mr. Calendar."
Abruptly Kirkwood's weathercock humor shifted—amusement yielding to intrigued interest. After all, why not oblige the fellow? What did anything matter, now? What harm could visit him if he yielded to this corpulent adventurer's insistence? Both from experience and observation he knew this for a world plentifully peopled by soldiers of fortune, contrivers of snares and pitfalls for the feet of the unwary. On the other hand, it is axiomatic that a penniless man is perfectly safe anywhere. Besides, there was the girl to be considered.
Kirkwood considered her, forthwith. In the process thereof, his eyes sought her, perturbed. Their glances clashed. She looked away hastily, crimson to her temples.
Instantly the conflict between curiosity and caution, inclination and distrust, was at an end. With sudden compliance, the young man rose.
"I shall be most happy to be of service to your daughter, Mr. Calendar," he said, placing the emphasis with becoming gravity. And then, the fat adventurer leading the way, Kirkwood strode across the room—wondering somewhat at himself, if the whole truth is to be disclosed.
[III]
CALENDAR'S DAUGHTER
All but purring with satisfaction and relief, Calendar halted.
"Dorothy, my dear, permit me to introduce an old friend—Mr. Kirkwood. Kirkwood, this is my daughter."
"Miss Calendar," acknowledged Kirkwood.