t way. Maybe it
ain't my butt-in, but it goes, anyhow--you strike me as bein' a whole
lot to the wrong."

The lady's escort indulged in more elegantly expressed but fetching
repartee. Corny, eschewing his truck driver's vocabulary, retorted as
nearly as he could in polite phrases. Then diplomatic relations were
severed; there was a brief but lively set-to with other than oral
weapons, from which Corny came forth easily victor.

A carriage dashed up, driven by a tardy and solicitous coachman.

"Will you kindly open the door for me?" asked the lady. Corny assisted
her to enter, and took off his hat. The escort was beginning to
scramble up from the sidewalk.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am," said Corny, "if he's your man."

"He's no man of mine," said the lady. "Perhaps he--but there's no
chance of his being now. Drive home, Michael. If you care to take
this--with my thanks."

Three red roses were thrust out through the carriage window into
Corny's hand. He took them, and the hand for an instant; and then the
carriage sped away.

Corny gathered his foe's hat and began to brush the dust from his
clothes.

"Come along," said Corny, taking the other man by the arm.

His late opponent was yet a little dazed by the hard knocks he had
received. Corny led him carefully into a saloon three doors away.

"The drinks for us," said Corny, "me and my friend."

"You're a queer feller," said the lady's late escort--"lick a man and
then want to set 'em up."

"You're my best friend," said Corny exultantly. "You don't understand?
Well, listen. You just put me wise to somethin'. I been playin' gent a
long time, thinkin' it was just the glad rags I had and nothin' else.
Say--you're a swell, ain't you? Well, you trot in that class, I guess.
I don't; but I found out one thing--I'm a gentleman, by--and I know it
now. What'll you have to drink?"

XXIV

THE DIAMOND OF KALI

The original news item concerning the diamond of the goddess Kali was
handed in to the city editor. He smiled and held it for a moment above
the wastebasket. Then he laid it back on his desk and said: "Try the
Sunday people; they might work something out of it."

The Sunday editor glanced the item over and said: "H'm!" Afterward he
sent for a reporter and expanded his comment.

"You might see General Ludlow," he said, "and make a story out of this
if you can. Diamond stories are a drug; but this one is big enough
to be found by a scrubwoman wrapped up