“I'm giving a nice little private, specially cooked dinner to Miss McTavish to-night. We're going to pull it off in one of those private screened corrals in that highly decorated Chink restauraw on Third Street. Moira—that is, Miss McTavish—is bringing a chaperon, one Miss Shirley Sumner. Your job is to be my chaperon and entertain Miss Sumner, who from all accounts is most brilliant and fascinating.”
“Nothing doing!” Bryce almost roared. “Why, she's the girl that bluffed the secret of the N. C. O. out of me!”
“Do you hate her for it?”
“No, I hate myself.”
“Then you'll come. You promised in advance, and no excuses go now. The news will be all over town by Friday morning; so why bother to keep up appearances any longer. Meet me at the Canton at seven and check dull care at the entrance.”
And before Bryce could protest, Ogilvy had thrown open the office door and called the glad tidings to Moira, who was working in the next room; whereupon Moira's wonderful eyes shone with that strange lambent flame. She clasped her hands joyously. “Oh, how wonderful!” she exclaimed “I've always wanted Miss Shirley to meet Mr. Bryce.”
Again Bryce was moved to protest, but Buck Ogilvy reached around the half-opened door and kicked him in the shins. “Don't crab my game, you miserable snarley-yow. Detract one speck from that girl's pleasure, and you'll never see that temporary franchise,” he threatened. “I will not work for a quitter—so, there!” And with his bright smile he set out immediately upon the trail of the city council, leaving Bryce Cardigan a prey to many conflicting emotions, the chief of which, for all that he strove to suppress it, was riotous joy in the knowledge that while he had fought against it, fate had decreed that he should bask once more in the radiance of Shirley Sumner's adorable presence. Presently, for the first time in many weeks, Moira heard him whistling “Turkey in the Straw.”