and Jim promptly
"stepped out from under."

"It's him," said Jim, neglecting grammar in his eagerness to shift the
burden of credit to Joe's broad shoulders. "He did it all."

The girl walked unsteadily up to Joe and said, submissively: "My life is
yours! Me your slave!"

Joe started, stared, and gulped, then turned to Jim to make sure he was
awake, and not a victim of some bad dream. But Jim had suddenly acquired a
peculiar form of hysteria, and with a choking sound turned his back upon
his friend.

"N-no," stuttered Joe, gently pushing the girl away, "no want."

Another explosion from Jim did not serve to improve Joe's state of mind.
His face was fiery red, and his voice husky.

"Me slave!" persisted the girl stubbornly.

Then Joe turned and fled, manfully fighting a desire to shout with
laughter one moment, and groan with dismay the next.

Two very much subdued baseball players crept in at the side door of the
hotel, and scurried along the corridor toward their rooms, hoping ardently
to meet no one on the way. It was with a sigh of relief that they slipped
inside, locked the door, and repaired the ravages that the waters of the
Yarra Yarra had made upon their clothing.

A few moments later, with self respect considerably improved, they
sauntered down to the writing room, where they found the two girls looking
more distractingly pretty than ever, engaged in folding the last of their
letters.

"Oh, back so soon?" queried Mabel, looking up.

"Goodness, how the time has flown," said Clara. "It seems as though you
had just gone. Have you another stamp, Mabel dear? I have used mine all
up."

"Say, you're complimentary," remarked Jim, dryly. "It's great to be missed
like that."

"Well, we'll miss something more if we don't get a move on," said Joe,
practically. "How about some lunch, girls?"

After luncheon the quartette sauntered out for a walk up Elizabeth street
to the post-office. The boys were just congratulating themselves that
their uncomfortable, though piquant, experience of the morning was a thing
definitely of the past, when it happened!

Joe felt a touch on his arm, and, looking down, saw, to his horror, the
black girl.

"Me yours!" she cried, eagerly.

Joe muttered savagely beneath his breath, and held the girl off at arm's
length, his misery increasing as, with a quick side glance, he saw the
growing indignation in Mabel's eyes.

"Me yours!" repeated the girl, with the maddening monoton