hs.

"No! No! No! No!" he exclaimed, as he handed them back to Sol one by
one.

"Not one,--by gosh, Jim! That pretty funny. Must be one, though. Sure
you look at every one?"

"She's not there, Sol. Trot out the others, old man."

"I ain't got no more, Jim. Honest! That every dam-one,--honest!

"Say,--maybe she tell you her name? Is it--is it Gracie Peters?"

"No!"

"Is it Sal Larigan?"

"No!"

"Betty----"

"Yes,--that's it! Betty--Betty Jornsen!"

"What? Betty she come? Jumpin' Yiminy! Let me get my hat and coat.
Where is she now? By gosh, Jim,--she dam-fine little peach."

Sol became more and more excited. "I got her picture here. You miss it
up. See!"

He ran over the photographs.

"There," he exclaimed, holding it up admiringly.

It was Betty's photograph, and a perfectly charming little picture she
made too. But Jim had intentionally passed it over, for he was not
through with Sol Hanson. He had still his pound of flesh to exact.

"Ain't that dam-fine girl?" Sol went on. "See that, Phil! I been going
to marry her. You bet! Tra-la-la!" he half sang. "Come on!--let's go
and find her, Jim. Come on!"

"Wait a bit!--Bide a wee!" returned canny Scot Langford. "That isn't
the picture of the woman who is here for you."

Sol's face fell.

"What? But you say her name's Betty Jornsen?"

"Yes! That is what she told me."

"Well!--that's Betty;--that's her."

"Oh, no it isn't! Don't you fool yourself, mister man. You're mixed up
in your women, Sol."

"No siree! You look on back," Sol returned triumphantly. "See that!
'With love and kisses to Sol from Betty Jornsen.'"

Jim stood for a moment in silence.

"She nice little girl;--come up, maybe, to your shoulder?" queried
Sol.

"No, Sol!--she's six feet high if she is an inch."

"She got fair hair and blue eyes; nice white teeth?"

"No, laddie!--she has carroty red hair; and her eyes, I mean her
eye--for she has only one--is a bleary, grey colour."

Sol commenced to perspire afresh, and to hop from one foot on to the
other.

"Aw, you foolin' me, Jim!"

"Devil a fool! It is too serious for that. She's big; she's got one
eye; she's lost her teeth in front and she is evidently a widow or she
has three kids with her, two at her skirts and one in her arms."

"Good Christopher Columbus!" exclaimed Sol, pulling at his hair.

"And, and, Sol,--she is coming here for you, in five minutes."

The big blacksmith was in desperation.

"Sol,--you're