"No, no, he was trying to bribe me to let him go." "Let him go? Well, if he ain't got a nerve! What'd he offer you--a castle in Spain?" "No," replied the girl, "a buried treasure in New Mexico." "What? Well, say, he must have thought you was green to fall for that stuff. A bright, wide-awake girl like you, too. Was it under an elm tree fifty paces off by moonlight?" "Why? Couldn't there be a buried treasure in New Mexico?" "Well, I suppose there could if there's been a fool to bury it; but it seems to me I'd of tried something snappier if I'd been him. An oil well, or shares in a gold mine, or somethin' first class in the bunk line." CHAPTER IX AT LIBERTY Polly and Matt continued their walk in silence until they reached the dining-room. They found Scott sitting as they had left him, smoking and thinking; while, through the hole in the wall, Mrs. Van Zandt could be seen and heard busy with the dishes. "Well, did His Nobs enjoy his tea?" asked Scott. "He did that! Kicked into it like a little man," replied Matt, cheerfully. "Also he made the young lady a real sporting proposition." "What?" "Oh, don't be absurd!" snapped Polly, disgustedly. "Anybody'd suppose you were college boys at the dansant." And she went into the kitchen. "Well, you see what you get, Matt; you would horn in. What do you mean--a sporting proposition?" "Oh, a rich one. Buried treasure up in New Mexico--secret chart handed down to Juan Pachuca by a maiden aunt--I don't know what all--just to get the key of the office, but she was too sharp for him." "I should hope so. Is that Hard?" Scott went to the window as the sound of hoof-beats was heard. Down the street came a man on horseback. Silhouetted against the moonlight, the tall Bostonian acquired a picturesqueness lacking in daylight. "I've got to take Hard out one of these days and teach him how to ride," remarked Scott, meditatively. "Jolt some of that Boston stiffness out of him." "You can't," replied the Irishman, placidly. "It's in his blood. His ancestors brought it over in the _Mayflower_ with 'em from England. I'll bet you Paul Revere rode just like Hard does." "Shucks, Matt, those English guys can ride--stands to reason they can. Look at the cross-country stuff they do! And on an English saddle at that." "Country? The country they ride over's nothing to what the Irish do. A feller told me----" "Hello, boys, what's up? Why the theatre supper?" demanded Hard, entering. He listened to the particulars which poured upon him. "Well," he said, finally, "I'm sorry I missed the excitement. 'Twas ever thus. The only time our house ever burned down I was at a matinee of the 'Black Crook.' Well, you saved the cash?" "Miss Polly did," grinned Scott. "And we've got the boy that made the mischief." "Jimmy much hurt?" "Afraid so."