er ever having been kissed by her.

"Glad you're back, Larry." She dropped his hand. "The man's name is
Hunt."

Larry turned to the painter. His laughing eyes could be sharp; they were
penetratingly sharp now. And so were Hunt's eyes.

Larry held out his hand, again the left. "And so you're the painter?"

"They call me a painter," responded Hunt, "but none of them believe I'm
a painter."

Larry turned again to Maggie. "And so you're actually Maggie! Meaning
no offense"--and there was a smiling audacity in his face that it would
have been hard to have taken offense at--"I don't see how Old Jimmie
Carlisle's daughter got such looks without stealing them."

"Well, then," retorted Maggie, "I don't see how you got your looks
unless--"

She broke off and bit her tongue. She had been about to retort with
the contrast between Larry's face and his shriveled, hook-nosed
grandmother's. They all perceived her intention, however.

Larry came instantly to her rescue with almost imperceptible ease.

"Dinner!" he exclaimed, gazing at the miscellany of dishes on the table.
"Am I invited?"

"Invited?" said Hunt. "You're the guest of honor."

"Then might the guest of honor beg the privilege of cleaning up a bit?"
Larry drew his right hand from his coat pocket, where it had been all
this while, and started to unwind the handkerchief which he had wound
about his knuckles as he had crossed from the pier.

"Is your hand hurt much?" Maggie inquired eagerly.

"Just skinned my knuckles."

"How?"

"They happened to connect with a flatfoot's jaw while he was trying to
make hypnotic passes at me. He's coming to about now. Officer Gavegan."

"Gavegan!" exclaimed Hunt. "You picked a tough bird. Young man, you're
off to a grand start--a charge of assault on an officer the very day
they turn you out of jail."

Larry smiled. "Gavegan is a dirty one, but he'll make no charge of
assault. He claims to be heavy-weight champion boxer of the Police
Department. Put a fine crimp in his reputation, wouldn't it, if he
admitted in public that he'd been knocked out by a fellow, bare-handed,
supposed to be weak from prison life, forty pounds lighter. He'd get the
grand razoo all along the line. Oh, Gavegan will never let out a peep."

"He'll square things in some other way," said Hunt.

"I suppose he'll try," Larry responded carelessly. "Where's the
first-aid room?"

Hunt showed him through the curtains. When he came out, Hunt, Maggie,
and