"I knew you'd stay," murmurs Maida to Kid Roberts, risin' from the table. "Come, let me show you our sunken gardens."
Kid Roberts squandered most of the day in the pleasant company of the fair Maida, whilst me and Ptomaine stuck around with Pancho at Pancho's urgent request. His system for makin' friends was costly, but perfect. For example, I remarked on a kind of odd and no doubt valuable ring Pancho was wearin', and he immediately gives it to me for a keepsake. Ptomaine raves over a bay mare in the stables, and, with a lordly wave of his hand, Pancho makes said bay mare the property of the open-mouthed Ptomaine. A bronze statuette caught the eye of Kid Roberts, and Pancho forces it on the astonished Kid as a remembrance of his visit. Pancho was some host, what?
We file into the big, oak-roofed dinin' room about seven p. m. To our large amazement six guys we haven't saw before is already seated at the table. These babies is no cholos—every one of 'em is dignified, well-dressed, and looks like he knew what it was all about and why. Class stuck out all over 'em. Pancho introduces us to them with great ceremony. But—he don't introduce them to us! Kid Roberts is no little embarrassed and plenty surprised when Pancho makes not the slightest mention of the gents' names, but the six newcomers seemed to take the kind of odd introduction as a matter of course.
All through the dinner the strange sextette never took their eyes off Pancho, watchin' his every move,
