"Ten-year-old—Great Cæsar, man, that's a real girl! She's grown up! She's old enough to vote—or nearly."
Burroughs stared harder than ever.
Then, "I shouldn't call that an extenuating circumstance," he mentioned wryly.
"Extenuating nothing! Look here, let me——"
"You needn't tell me anything, you know," Burroughs suggested in great indifference.
"Oh, shut up!" Billy spoke with deep disgust. "You've got to help us out of this and then forget the whole business." He paused a moment; then, "Miss Beecher made the mistake of taking a rash ride with me. She was traveling alone, to meet some friends, to Luxor—and the indiscretion is entirely mine, you understand. I got her into it. And then, as I said, a Turkish fellow, that had been making himself objectionable by following her, got his men out after us and chased us down here. Her trunks have gone on to Luxor where those friends are, and we have to find some presentable wraps for her and get her to the first train. Verstehen?"
"Grasped—and forgotten," said his friend laconically. Just for an instant his sleepy gaze touched Billy's rugged face, then fell casually away. "I suppose any comments that occur to me are superfluous?" he pleasantly observed.
"Completely.... And, Lord Harry, but I'm glad to see you!"
"Same here." Burroughs gave Billy's arm a friendly grip and Billy spun fiercely about on him. "Don't you do that again!" he warned. "Take the other one. That's got a—a scratch."
"A scratch? One of those fellows wing you out there? Let me have a look——"