very generous to
want to help these fellows across the line that are broke. But they
are riff-raff. He will lose every dollar of it. I know them. Good
Lord! haven't I befriended them, and helped them fifty ways? And do
they appreciate it? Well, I should say not!"

"The more you do for people the less they appreciate it," said Mrs.
Barnett still in a bitter mood.

"Some people," corrected Reedy. "There are a few, a very few, who
never forget a favour."

"Yes, that is true," assented the widow, and began to relent in her
mind, seeing how kind was Mr. Jenkins.

"I'm very sorry," continued Reedy, frowning, "that your uncle has taken
up this fellow. I've been looking up Rogeen's past--and he is no good,
absolutely no good. Been a drifter all his life. Never had a hundred
dollars of his own.

"By the way," Reedy suddenly remembered a coincidence in regard to that
undertaker's receipt, "where was it your husband lost the sale of that
mine?"

"At Blindon, Colorado."

"By George!" Reedy released the wheel with the right hand and slapped
his leg. "I thought so. Do you know who that young man with the
fiddle was who ruined your fortune?"

"No." Evelyn Barnett came around sharply.

"Bob Rogeen--that fellow who insulted you this morning."

"No? Not really?" Angry incredulity.

Reedy nodded. "As I told you, I've been looking up his past. And I
got the story straight."

"The vile scoundrel!" Mrs. Barnett said, bitterly. "And to think Uncle
would trust him with his money."

"We must stop it," said Reedy. "It isn't right that your uncle should
be fleeced by this rascal."

"He shan't be!" declared Mrs. Barnett, gritting her teeth.

"There are too many really worthy investments," added Reedy.

"I'll see that this is the last money that man gets," Mrs. Barnett
asseverated.

"Your uncle is a little bull headed, isn't he?" suggested Reedy,
cautiously. "Better be careful how you approach him."

"Oh, I'll manage him, never fear," she said positively.

Jenkins set Mrs. Barnett down at the entrance to the bungalow court.
He preferred that Jim Crill should not see him with her. It might lead
him to think Reedy was trying to influence her.

As Mrs. Barnett stalked up the steps, Jim Crill was sitting on the
porch in his shirt sleeves, smoking.

"How are you feeling, dear?" she asked, solicitously.

"Ain't feelin'," Crill grunted--"I'm comfortable."

Evelyn sank into a chair, held her hands, and