"Tell me, Jack," she asked, "what happened the night you followed Mabel out of the pavilion—the night that man gave her the false message?" Jack thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and looked very serious—for him. "To tell the truth, Cora," he began, "I had to make love to Mabel to get her out of his clutches."
"Make love to her, Jack!"
"Nothing smaller would do but you know, sis, the love was only a sort of sample, the kind a fellow might safely give away to any girl."
Cora laughed. "You funny boy," she said, "to flatter a girl to save her from—flattery."
"But didn't you ask me to? Didn't you say to watch Mabel that time you whispered as I was leaving? You are the funny one. It was you that put the wicked plot in my fair young head," and he sighed in mock sincerity.
"But honestly, did you see that man give her the telegram? It seems to me you might be a witness should there be trouble."
Jack jumped up. "Oh, no, you don't, sis!" he declared. "You don't get me in any further mischief. Mabel is too fond of me now."
"Jack, don't be silly! I want you to wire the editor of the Chelton paper that, owing to the sudden illness of Miss Jeannette Blake, her niece, Miss Mabel Blake, has been compelled to stop her musical studies, and postpone her debut as a singer. That is all true and if the other notice does appear you can arrange to have this given as the latest."
"Foxy!" declared jack. "'Not a word of fib and not a grain of truth. Well, you would beat Jones if you went at his game, but I do think it a good idea to wire Nat Phillips. I'll go and do so at once," he added, feeling in his pocket to make sure he had with him change enough to pay for the message.
"And Jack," Cora went on, "since you have been so good, don't you think it would be lovely for you to sort of keep track of Mabel for a day or two? That man, I am afraid, has her under some sort of influence, and there is no telling what he might not try to do to get some Blake money."