“Sure. I introduced it in New York, an’ everybody in the Five Hundred copied it an’ named it after me. It made an awful hit.” Carrigan fled. He went straight for the bar by instinct, for he began to need a drink. Jacqueline proved a prophet. As he dropped his coin on the bar a broad hand swept it back to him. He looked up into the handsome, serious face of Maurie Gordon. “Partner,” said Maurie, “this drink’s on me. My name’s Gordon.” “Wait a minute, Maurie,” broke in another voice. “You’re lickerin’ with me, friend. I’m Dave Carey. Glad to meet you. Two comin’ up, bartender!” “I’m drinkin’ beer,” said Carrigan, remembering orders. An odd look, which he understood perfectly, came in the eyes of the other men. “Look here,” went on Maurie, “that girl you brung to the dance is a hell bender. If you ain’t dancin’ all evenin’ with her, maybe I could break in, eh?” He reinforced his suggestion with a broad wink and a tremendous slap on the shoulder. “Maybe you could,” said Carrigan. “I’ll have to introduce you. Miss Silvestre is straight from the East, an’ she don’t quite get the hang of our Western ways.” “Straight from the East?” “Yep. New York, an’ all that. Blood as blue as hell.” “The devil!” “It is, all right, till you get to know her.” “How’d you pick her up?” “She’s been visitin’ at the ranch where I work. We sort of ran off together tonight. She was strong for some sort of a lark. Kind of nifty?” “_Is_ she?” “But you got to talk careful to her, get me?” “I’ll hang on to my tongue like it was a buckin’ bronco.” “Then foller me.” “Hold on,” said Carey desperately. “Carrigan, don’t I get no look in here?” “What d’you want to go hangin’ around with every girl in the country for?” queried Gordon, and his frown was dangerous. “Ain’t you engaged already?” “Am I?” replied Carey, with an ominous lowering of the voice. “An’ ain’t Dolly Maxwell got you roped and throwed?” “Suppose,” broke in Carrigan anxiously, “that you get introduced at the same time, an’ then Gordon c’n have the first dance an’ you get the next.” They compromised on this basis and trooped obediently behind Carrigan. “Wait a minute,” said Gordon. “Maybe you’d like to meet Dolly Maxwell?” “Sure,” said Carrigan. They stopped before the girl of the golden hair. There was soul-deep understanding in the cold eye she fixed upon Maurie Gordon. Carrigan received gushing recognition, not for him, he knew, but for the partner of the sensation in green. “The next dance? Sure you can have it. Good-by, Maurie.” But her parting shot was wasted on thin air. Maurie was headed for other and more pleasant regions, and the light of the discoverer was in his eye. He was a new Balboa looking out upon another Pacific. They ranged before Jac. “Miss Silvestre, this is Mr. Gordon, an’ Mr. Carey.” Maurie searched his memory, steeled his nerves, and spoke: “I sure feel it’s a privilege to know you.” “Me, too,” said Carey, and then bit his lips.