pper.

"Oh, say now, Pepper--not really?" queried Lane, incredulously.

"It was. And a lady I--I admire very much."

"Who?"

"Miss Amanda Hill."

"The schoolteacher? Nice little woman like that! Pepper, why couldn't
you pick on one of these Middleville gossips or society dames?"

"Lord--I didn't know who she was--until after--and I couldn't have
helped it anyway," he replied, mopping his red face. "When--I saw
her--and she recognized me--I nearly died.... It was at White's
Confectionery Den. And I'm afraid some people saw me."

"Well. You old duffer! And you say you admire this lady very much?"

"Indeed I do. I call on her."

"Colonel, your name is Dennis," replied Lane, with merciless humor.
"It serves you right."

The little man evidently found relief in his confession and in Lane's
censure.

"I'm cured forever," he declared vehemently. "And say, Lane, I've been
looking for you. Have you been at my rooms lately--you know--to take a
peep?"

"I have not," replied Lane, turning sharply. A slight chill went over
him. "I thought that club stuff was off."

"Off--nothing," whispered Colonel Pepper, drawing Lane aside. "Swann
and his strong-arm gang just got foxy. They quit for a while. Now
they're rushing the girls in there--say from four to five--and in the
evenings a little while, not too late. Oh, they're the slick bunch,
picking out the ice cream soda hour when everybody's downtown.... You
run up to my rooms right now. And I'll gamble----"

"I'll go," interrupted Lane, grimly.

Not fifteen minutes before he had seen his sister Lorna and a chum,
Gail Williams, go into White's place. Lane's pulse quickened. As he
started to go he ran into Blair Maynard who grasped at him: "What's
hurry, old scout?"

"Blair, I'm never in a hurry if you want me. But the fact is I've got
rather urgent business. How about to-morrow?"

"Sure. Meet you here. I just wanted to unload on you, Dare. Looks as
if my mother has hatched it up between Margie and our esteemed
countryman, Richard Swann."

It was not often that Lane cursed, but he did so now.

"But Blair, didn't you _tell_ your mother what this fellow is?"
remonstrated Lane.

"Well, I'll say I did," replied Blair, sardonically. "Cut no ice
whatever. She didn't believe. She didn't care for any proofs. All rich
young men had their irregularities!... Good God! Doesn't it make you
sick?"

"But how about Holt Dalrymple?"

"Holt's turned over a new leaf. He's workin