eriff Knox
would help me fix that part, I am sure."

For a moment there was a suspicious moisture in Betty Jo's gray eyes.
Then she said, "And you would really go to prison for Auntie Sue?"

"It is the least I can do for her now," he returned.

And Betty Jo must have felt the sincerity of his purpose, for she said,
softly: "I am sure that it would make Auntie Sue very happy to know that
you would do that; and"--she added--"I know that you could not possibly
make her more unhappy and miserable than by doing it, could you?"

Again she had given an unexpected turn to the subject with the usual
convincing question-mark.

"But what can I do?" he demanded, letting himself go a little.

Betty Jo steadied him with: "Well, suppose you listen while I consider?
Did I tell you that 'considering' was another of my strong points, Mr.
Burns? Well, it is. You may consider me while I consider, if you please.

"The first thing is, that you must make Auntie Sue happy,--as happy as
you possibly can do at any cost. The second thing is, that you must pay
her back that money, every penny of it. Now, it wouldn't make her happy
for you to go to prison, and the reward wouldn't pay back all the money;
and if you were in prison, you never could pay the rest; besides, if you
were wasting your time in prison, she would just die of miserableness,
and she wouldn't touch a penny of that reward-money--not if she was to
die for want of it. So that settles that, doesn't it?"

And Brian was forced to admit that, as Betty Jo put it, it did.

"Very well, let us consider some more: Dear Auntie Sue has been
wonderfully, gloriously happy in doing what she has for you this past
winter,--meaning your book and all. I can see that she must have been.
No one could help being happy doing such a thing as that. So you just
simply can't spoil it all, now, by letting her know that you know what
you know."

Brian started to speak, but she checked him with: "Please, Mr. Burns,
I must not be interrupted when I am considering. Next to the
prison,--which we have agreed won't do at all,--you could do nothing
that would make Auntie Sue more unhappy than to spoil the happiness she
has in your not knowing what you have done to her. That is very clear,
isn't it? And think of her miserableness if, after all these weeks of
happy anticipation, your book should never be published. No, no, no; you
can't rob Auntie Sue of her happiness in you just because you stole her
money,