ou what a cocktail
before breakfast does to the lining of your stomach? Would you?"

"No. I suppose it's what the laundress does to my linen. What do I
care?"

"_Don't_ be a short sport, Jack."

"Well, I don't care for the game you put me up against. Do you know what
has happened?"

"I really don't, dear friend. The Tracer of Lost Persons has not found
her--_has_ he?"

"He says he has," retorted Gatewood sullenly, pulling a crumpled
telegram from his pocket and casting it upon the table. "I don't want to
see her; I'm not interested. I never saw but one girl in my life who
interested me in the slightest; and she's employed to help in this
ridiculous search."

Kerns, meanwhile, had smoothed out the telegram and was intently
perusing it:

"_John Gatewood, Lenox Club, Fifth Avenue:_

"Person probably discovered. Call here as soon as possible.

W. KEEN."

"_What_ do you make of that?" demanded Gatewood hoarsely.

"Make of it? Why, it's true enough, I fancy. Go and see, and if it's
she, be hers!"

"I won't! I don't want to see any ideal! I don't want to marry. Why do
you try to make me marry somebody?"

"Because it's good for you, dear friend. Otherwise you'll go to the
doggy-dogs. You don't realize how much worry you are to me."

"Confound it! Why don't _you_ marry? Why didn't I ask you that when you
put me up to all this foolishness? What right have you to--"

"Tut, friend! _I_ know there's no woman alive fit to wed me and spend
her life in stealing kisses from me. _I_ have no ideal. _You_ have an
ideal."

"I haven't!"

"Oh, yes, dear friend, there's a stub in your check book to prove it.
You simply bet $5,000 that your ideal existed. You've won. Go and be her
joy and sunshine."

"I'll put an end to this whole business," said Gatewood wrathfully, "and
I'll do it now!"

"Bet you that you're engaged within the week!" said Kerns with a placid
smile.

The other swung around savagely: "What will you bet, Tommy? You may have
what odds you please. I'll make you sit up for this."

"I'll bet you," answered Kerns, deliberately, "an entire silver dinner
service against a saddle horse for the bride."

"That's a fool bet!" snapped Gatewood. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, if you don't care to--"

"What do I want of a silver service? But, all right; I'll bet you
anything."

"_She'll_ want it," replied Kerns significantly, booking the bet. "I may
as well canter out to Tiffany's this morning, I