s--is she the one?"

"Yes," says Warrie.

"Same to you," says Valentina. "Good-by."

They shook hands once more--sort of a long, lingerin' shake, with their
eyes steady to each other; and then--well, then I steers Valentina out
past the grinnin' cloak-room boys and stows her in the taxi. She
didn't have much to say on the way down. Nor I. And, take it from me,
it's some ride from the Tarleton down to Pier 9, East River.

First thing next morning Mr. Robert wants to know how the reunion
passed off, and he listens bug-eyed as I describes the way we rung in
on the dinner-party with Gladys.

"The deuce you did!" says he. "Just like Warrie to do that, though.
But, if I know Miss Prentice at all, she will pay him back for that
little prank."

"Now you've said something!" says I.

"And Valentina," he adds reflectively, "is on her way back to Sand
Spur, is she?"

"I expect that's where she belongs," says I; "and yet--"

"Well, yet what?" demands Mr. Robert, sort of quizzin'.

"I was only thinkin'," says I, "that if the cards could have been
shuffled different, with Gladys startin' in Sand Spur and Valentina on
the Avenue, Warrie might not have so many yawns comin' to him across
the dinner-table. But then, maybe Elmer of the Swamp deserves some
lucky breaks. Who knows?"

CHAPTER VI

A BALANCE FOR THE BOSS

You see, I was openin' the mornin' mail. Hope you get that part. Not
that I want to seem chesty over it. Just goes to show, that's all.
For, of the whole force here at the General offices, there's just three
of us can carve up the mornin' mail without gettin' fired for it. And
the other two are Old Hickory and Mr. Robert.

H-m-m-m! Business of lookin' important. That's what it is to be a
private sec. But, between you and me, this slicin' and sortin'
envelopes ain't such thrillin' work; mostly routine stuff--reports of
department heads, daily statements from brokers, and so on. Now and
then, though, you run across something rich. This was one of the times.

I was 'most through the pile when I comes to this pale pink affair with
a heavy wax seal on the back. Perfumed, too, like lilacs. First off I
thought it must be private, and I held the letter stabber in the air
while I took a closer look. No. It's addressed just to the Corrugated
Trust. So rip she goes. After I'd read it through twice I grins and
puts it one side. When Mr. Robert blows in I hands the pink one to him
first.