"Yes, Ket."
"The friend stuff!" he cast at her, and swore in his exasperation. "You're tryin' to pull that on me to-day. You won't! I'm gonna be happy. I wanta be happy and I'm gonna be happy to-day. What do you suppose I got out of that jail for? To talk to you? To hear you spiel about Mozart? I know your line; I read your book; and it's crazy. D'you know where it is? I left it in jail with a loon that's just arrived for burglary. He's crazy, too. D'you know what Weigal told me? To write my own ticket—my own ticket. And I'm certainly goin' to write a good one. I got the world by the tail, and I'll marry you, you poor Kid. Sure, I will."
"No, you won't, Ket."
"Then what's your big idea for the day?"
She arose, and he sat glaring at her until she was several steps away, when he jumped up and rushed after her and past her to the entrance, where, grandly, he called a cab for her and, pressing a banknote into the driver's palm, commanded: "Ride her home or anywhere she tells you."
She chose home; and since mamma was out and Dads did not return, she was alone, undisturbed, during the rest of the day. For every one supposed her with Ketlar, who had completely disappeared even from the knowledge of the newspaper men until a Waukegan correspondent called the office of Oliver's paper late in the afternoon. Whereupon Oliver discerned that it might, after all, be worth while to ring the Royle number.
"Hello; there's where you are!" he hailed Joan Daisy's voice in reply. "Then you are in town!"
"Yes; I'm here," replied Joan Daisy. "I'm home."
"How long you been there?" inquired Oliver, in a tone combining the privileged concern of an old, established friend and the ingenuousness of an utterly impersonal
