"That's right," reproached Clay. "Make fun of me because I'm a
stranger and come right from the alfalfa country." He turned to
Beatrice cheerfully. "O' course he bit me good and proper. I'm green.
But I'll bet he loses that smile awful quick when he sees me again."
"You're not going to—"
"Me, I'm the gentlest citizen in Arizona. Never in trouble. Always peaceable and quiet. Don't you get to thinkin' me a bad-man, for I ain't."
Jenkins came to the door and announced "Mr. Bromfield."
Almost on his heels a young man in immaculate riding-clothes sauntered into the room. He had the assured ease of one who has the run of the house. Miss Whitford introduced the two young men and Bromfield looked the Westerner over with a suave insolence in his dark, handsome eyes.
Clay recognized him immediately. He had shaken hands once before with this well-satisfied young man, and on that occasion a fifty-dollar bill had passed from one to the other. The New Yorker evidently did not know him.
It became apparent at once that Bromfield had called to go riding in the Park with Miss Whitford. That young woman came up to say good-bye to her new acquaintance.
"Will you be here when I get back?"
"Not if our friends outside give me a chance for a getaway," he told her.
Her bright, unflinching eyes looked into his. "You'll come again and let us know how you escaped," she invited.