"Sure, I do. I guess you've done full time for a first offense. Clean off the slate, Courtney. You and Vyse and I know it—nobody else—Gilkins is dead. Come on, man! That boy of yours is
a corker! I love him—that little brother, Jim, of mine; and as for—Molly——" His voice broke and he turned sharply aside, saying: "It's certainly blue-bird weather, Courtney, and we all might as well go North. Come out under the stars, and we'll talk it over."
It was almost dawn when they returned. Marche's hand lay lightly on Courtney's shoulder for a moment, as they parted.
Above, as Courtney stood feeling blindly for his door, Molly's door swung softly ajar, and the girl came out in her night-dress.
"Father," she whispered, "is it all right?"
"All right, thank God, little daughter."
"And—I may care for him?"
"Surely—surely, darling, because he is the finest specimen of manhood that walks this merciless earth."
"I knew it," she whispered gaily. "If you'll lend me your wrapper a moment, I'll go to his door and say good-night to him again."