The Kid came edging out of the social hall. “Will he do it?” he whispered hoarsely.
“He says he won't,” replied Dixie.
“Say—that's tough! I didn't think Tex would overlook a thing like that. What's the matter?” Dixie now considered this curiously useless man. Or useless he had always seemed to her. Now she was not so sure. “He makes it a condition that I tell him where the stuff is.”
“Well—Dix, you'd tell him that, wouldn't you?” The Kid was whining. “If you really knew yourself.”
“Of course I won't tell him, Jim. Not yet.”
His eyes sank before hers. He fumbled in a pocket; produced a tiny wrist watch of platinum. “Look here. Dix,” he remarked clumsily, “things ain't always been's pleasant as they might be between you and I, but I was wondering if you wouldn't put this on, for old times' sake, like.”
She took the gift, weighed in in her hand. “Thank you, Jim,” she replied. “That's awfully nice of you. Though perhaps I'd better not wear it here on the boat.”
“I suppose young Kane might ask questions, eh?”
“Nothing like that. I'll wear it. Here—you snap the catch, Jim.”
“I—I might wish it on, Dix, like the kids do.”