n words startled Irene. She loved to play upon
Fom's fears, but she had not really intended committing herself so far.
"He may call for me to-night," she added, with qualifying emphasis.

"Who? Not--not--"

"Yes, my father. I must be ready at any time, you know."

Fom looked alarmed. She had heard long ago and in strict confidence
about Split's lofty parentage. She had even accepted drafts upon her
future, rendering services which were unusual in a Madigan fag, with the
understanding that when the Princess Split should come into her own, she
would richly repay. But she had never before heard her speak so
positively or set a time when their relationship must cease.

A feeling of utter loneliness came over Split's faithful ally. She saw
the balance of power in the Madigan oligarchy rudely disturbed. She
beheld, in a swift, dread vision, the undisputed supremacy of the party
of Sissy. Dismay entered her soul and shook her body, for with the
brunette of the twins emotion and action were synonymous. "Oh, don't go,
Split!" she begged, squirming unhappily at her end of the plank. "Don't
go!"

High up in the air, Split smiled superbly. There was _noblesse oblige_
in that smile; also the strong teasing tincture which no Madigan could
resist using, even upon her closest ally.

"Oh, Split--o-o-oh, Split!" wailed Fom, forgetting in her wriggling
misery how close she already was to the end of the plank.

A crash and a bump and a squeal told it to her all at once. She had slid
clear off, getting an instantaneous effect of her haughty sister
unsupported at a dizzy eminence, before Split came bumping down to
earth, the see-saw giving that regal head a parting, stunning tap as the
long end finally settled down and the short one went up to stay.

It was never in the ethics of Madigan warfare to explain the
inexplicable. Florence was on her feet, flying as though for her very
life, before Split, shaken down from her dreams, quite realized what had
happened. And she was still sitting as she had fallen when Jim, the
Indian, came for the sawbuck.

Jim limped, his eyes were sore and watery, and it took him two weeks to
conquer the Madigan woodpile, which any other Piute in town could have
leveled in half the time.

"Him fall, eh?" he asked, dismantling the see-saw with that careful
leisureliness that accounted for the Chinaman Wong's contempt for
Indians.

"Not him; _her_, Jim."

Split possessed a passion for imparting knowledg