"Good-by, Betty," he said brokenly. "Don't forget me in your new-found happiness. I'm going to leave for the Far West on the morning train. Think of me kindly, Betty."
With a last glance at them he turned on his heel and his head bowed on his chest as his hand touched the door knob.
"Good-by," he repeated. He turned the door knob.
But at these words a flying bundle of snakes and silk and tawny hair hurled itself at him.
"Oh, Perry, don't leave me! I can't face it alone! Perry, Perry, take me with you!"
Her tears rained down in a torrent and flowed damply on his neck.
Calmly he folded his arms about her.
"I don't care," she cried tearfully. "I love you and if you can wake up a minister at this hour and have it done over again I'll go West with you."
Over her shoulder the front part of the camel looked at the back part of the camel—and they exchanged a particularly subtle, esoteric sort of wink that only true camels can understand.