at her
hand, still lying upon the blue-flannel sleeve. "Did you know that
your arm grew as hard as iron for an instant? I never knew that
anyone's arm could grow as hard as that. And is that the way you
always prepare to receive your--friends?"

Steve colored a little.

"Perhaps I'm overcautious," he replied. "But it has to be hard. It
constitutes what one of my men, Joe Morgan, calls 'accident insurance.'"

Then her face lighted up again. The delighted bob of her head with
which she greeted that name astonished the man.

"Do you--why, you must have heard of Joe," he exclaimed.

Mischief danced again in the dark eyes.

"Joe Morgan," she laughed. "'Fat Joe,' isn't it? And of course I have
heard of him. You don't realize it, but I know more about this East
Coast work and--and the men who are doing it, than I had any idea
myself. Why, I'll wager that you never knew, yourself, that he once
wrote in to the officials insisting that the entry of his name on the
files be changed from 'Joe Morgan, cook,' to 'Joseph Morgan, assistant
to Chief O'Mara'!"

Steve's chuckle of appreciation was answer enough.

"I didn't know," he admitted, "but it's like him. And it was no more
than reasonable, either--that request--even if it is funny. He has
been cook for me; but he's been doctor and nurse and countless other
things in as many crises. He's the most trustworthy and capable
adviser, too, that any man ever had."

She scanned his face closely at the timbre of those words. Then, with
face averted, "Didn't he embroider you a--a sofa-cushion, too, once?"
she inquired, quite demurely.

Steve grew very red.

"Who told you that?" he blurted, and Barbara giggled again.

"Mr. Ainnesley, I think. Then it is true? I--I never believed it
before."

Watching the blood creep up beneath his tanned skin, she told herself
that she did like more than a little the way his eyelids crinkled when
he grinned.

"We were in San Domingo that year," he explained none too composedly.
"It was near Christmas, and Joe wouldn't consider any of the native
wares as a gift. So he--he worked it himself in--in yellow worsted on
a red background. I have it still, displayed in a conspicuous place in
the shack up-river. But now I'll wager that you can't guess what the
motto is across its front. He told me that he didn't care for it
particularly himself, but it was the only one he could find. You can't
guess, but you are permitted to try