“Tip him in.”
Perkins glanced upward at the balcony where the vines had closed upon a face that smiled.
“Oh,” he said mildly, “he’s a friend of a friend of mine.”
IV.
TWO ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE
ORCHIDS do not, by preference, grow upon a cactus plant. Little though she recked of botany, Miss Brewster was aware of this fundamental truth. Neither do they, without extraneous impulsion, go hurtling through the air along deserted mountain-sides, to find a resting-place far below; another natural-history fact which the young lady appreciated without being obliged to consult the literature of the subject. Therefore, when, from the top of the appointed rock, she observed a carefully composed bunch of mauve Cattleyas describe a parabola and finally join two previous clusters upon the spines of a prickly-pear patch, she divined some energizing force back of the phenomenon. That energizing force she surmised was temper.
“Fie!” said she severely. “Beetle gentlemen should control their little feelings. Naughty, naughty!”
From below rose a fervid and startled exclamation.
“Naughtier, naughtier!” deprecated the visitor. “Are these the cold and measured terms of science?”
“You haven’t lived up to your bet,” complained the censured one.
“Indeed I have! I always play fair, and pay fair. Here I am, as per contract.”