Having made these observations McGuire ventured to lower his arms by
jerks; nothing happened; he was safe. So he vented his feelings by
scowling on the strangers.

"Well," he snapped, "what's up? Too late for business. I'm closin'
up."

The two quite disregarded him. Their eyes were wandering calmly about
the place, and now they rested on the pride of McGuire's store. The
figure of a man in evening clothes, complete from shoes to gloves and
silk hat, stood beside a girl of wax loveliness. She wore a low-cut
gown of dark green, and over her shimmering, cold white shoulders was
draped a scarf of dull gold. Above, a sign said: "You only get married
once; why don't you do it up right?"

"That," said the taller stranger, "ought to do very nicely for us, eh?"

And the younger replied in a curiously light, pleasant voice: "Just
what we want. But how'll I get away with all that fluffy stuff, eh?"

The elder explained: "We're going to a bit of a dance and we'll take
those evening clothes."

The heart of McGuire beat faster and his little eyes took in the
strangers again from head to foot.

"They ain't for sale," he said. "They's just samples. But right over
here--"

"This isn't a question of selling," said the red-headed man. "We've
come to accept a little donation, McGuire."

The storekeeper grew purple and white in patches. Still there was no
show of violence, no display of guns; he moved his hand toward his own
weapon, and still the strangers merely smiled quietly on him. He
decided that he had misunderstood, and went on: "Over here I got a line
of goods that you'll like. Just step up and--"

The younger man, frowning now, replied: "We don't want to see any more
of your junk. The clothes on the models suit us all right. Slip 'em
off, McGuire."

"But--" began McGuire and then stopped.

His first suspicion returned with redoubled force; above all, that head
of dark red hair made him thoughtful. He finished hoarsely: "What the
hell's this?"

"Why," smiled the taller man, "you've never done much in the interests
of charity, and now's a good time for you to start. Hurry up, McGuire;
we're late already!"

There was a snarl from the storekeeper, and he went for his gun, but
something in the peculiarly steady eyes of the two made him stop with
his fingers frozen hard around the butt. A mighty sickness overwhelmed
McGuire, and before his eyes there swam a dark mist.

He whispered: "You're Red P