Clyde's faded eyes dropped. "Well, I turned a trick, and to all intents and purposes it is mine. There it is. I didn't steal it, and—you don't have to know everything, do you? That is why I got the check cashed."
"I beg your pardon," Boyd apologized; "I didn't mean to pry into your affairs, and it is none of my business, anyhow. I'm glad enough to get the money, no matter where it came from. I'd forgive you if you had stolen it." He began to dress hurriedly. "You are the fairy prince of this enterprise, Alton, and you can go to Kalvik and pick flowers or play the mandolin or do anything you wish. Now for a telegram to the bank at Seattle. We leave to-morrow."
"Oh, here, now! I can't get my wardrobe ready."
"Ward—nothing! You don't need any clothes! You can get all that stuff in Seattle."
"Must have wardrobe," firmly maintained Clyde. "No can do without."
"George and I will be in Seattle for several weeks, so you can come on later."
"No, sir! I'm going to trail my bet with yours. I might change my mind if I hung around here alone. I'll make my tailor work all night to-night; it will do him good. But it upsets me to be hurried; it upsets me worse than being rumpled in the morning."
That was a busy day for Boyd Emerson, but he was too elated to notice fatigue, even while dressing for the Waylands'. He had arranged to come an hour before dinner, that Mildred and he might have a little time to themselves, and his haste to acquaint her with the news of his success brought him to the Lake Shore house ahead of time. She did not keep him waiting, however, and when she appeared, gowned for dinner, he fairly swept her off her feet with his abruptness.
"It's a go, my Lady; I have succeeded."
"I knew it by your smile. I am so glad!"