tune, in addition to
squandering a good little chunk that his father left him. And you've
grub-staked 'em both to this! Well, never mind; it's a back number,
now, and you have given me your word for it. Don't worry about the
money you are going to need for the honeymoon. There is plenty in the
bank--in my account, if there isn't any in yours."

I thanked him with tears in my eyes. Was there ever another such
generous soul in this world, or in any other? He stopped me in mid
career, wishing to know more about the wedding.

"Let the money part of it go hang and tell me more about this hurry
business you've planned for to-morrow. It's scandalous and unheard of,
but I don't blame you a little bit. Dope my part out for me while
you're here--so I'll know where I am to come on and go off."

For a little while longer--as long a while as I could spare from
Polly--we talked of the impromptu wedding and arranged for it. Barrett
was a brother to me in all that the word implies. He took on all of
the "best man's" responsibilities--and more. When I was leaving to
walk up the hill he walked to the corner of the side street with me,
and at the last moment business intruded.

"I forgot to tell you," he cut in abruptly. "After you left yesterday
afternoon a court notice was served upon us. Blackwell's lawyers have
taken the Lawrenceburg suit to the Federal court--on the ground of
alien ownership--and we've got to show cause all over again why we
shouldn't be enjoined for trespass. Benedict seems to be more or less
stirred up about it."

"If that is the case, I oughtn't to be going away," I said.

"Yes, you ought; Gifford and I can handle it."

Notwithstanding Barrett's assurance I was vaguely disturbed as I
climbed the hill to the Everton cottage. Blackwell had proved to be a
veritable bull-dog in the long-drawn-out fight, and the tenacity with
which he was holding on was ominous. Why the Lawrenceburg people
should make such a determined struggle to wipe us out was beyond my
comprehension. It had been proved in the State courts, past a question
of doubt, that our title to the Little Clean-Up was unassailable, and
still Blackwell hung on. What was the animus?

If I could have had the answer to that question it is conceivable that
my one evening as Polly Everton's affianced lover--an evening spent in
the seventh heaven of ecstasy before the cheerful coal blaze in the
cottage sitting-room--would have been sadly ma