"No—I promise."
"Harry," wailed the militant O'Neill. "What's the matter with you? We ought to thrash him—now—and—"
"Go back on the road?" Howe inquired. "A hundred dollars each,. Bob. It means New York in a parlor car."
"Then you will stay?" cried Gonzale.
"Yes,—we'll stay," said Howe firmly.
"See here—" pleaded O'Neill. "Oh, what's the use? This dolce far niente has got us."
"We stay only on the terms you name," stipulated Howe.
"It is agreed," said Gonzale, smiling wanly. "The loss of those letters cost me a thousand dollars—and you stood by. However, let us forgive and forget. Here—Madame On Dit's copy for to-morrow." Timidly he hold out a roll of paper toward O'Neill.
"All right." O'Neill snatched it. "But I'm going to edit it from now on. For instance, there's a comma I don't like. And Fm going to keep an eye on you, my hearty."
"As you wish," said Gonzale humbly. "I—I
