“If your father scolds to-night, do not answer him saucily,” advised Frank. “What can I tell him? He will want to know where I have been.” “My dear girl, the best thing you can do is to tell him the truth.” She gasped. “I’d never, never, never dare do that! He would be furious!” “Then you must not ask me what to tell him. I can give you no other advice.” Again she was silent some moments. “I’ll do it!” The exclamation burst from the girl’s lips. “Mr. Merriwell,” she said, “I am going to tell papa just what has happened, no matter how angry he may be. I’ll tell him all about the good advice you have given me, and I’ll also tell him that I mean to heed it. No matter what happens, I am going to tell the truth to-night! That is settled!” “Bravo, little girl!” exclaimed Merry, in great satisfaction. “I do not believe you will be sorry.” They turned down a street, and the girl stopped before they had gone far. “I live just a few doors below,” she said. “I don’t think you had better go further. Mr. Merriwell—I—I don’t know how to say it, but I want to—to thank you. You have been awfully kind to me, and I appreciate it. You are just as brave as I believed you were, for you were not a bit afraid of those two waiters in the restaurant, and you handled them so easily! No matter what you have said about actors I shall always know there is one who is brave, noble and honorable! I shall not forget you, Mr. Merriwell!” Her voice trembled. “I am glad to know you will remember me that way, Miss Dow,” said Merry. “You must not understand that I said all actors were bad. There are honorable men who are actors, the same as there are honorable men in other professions. The dishonorable ones, however, are those you are most likely to meet through a chance acquaintance. I hope you will never make the acquaintance of any man again in such a manner.” “I—hope you do not—think too—bad—of—me,” she murmured, hanging her head. “I do not think that way of you at all,” assured Frank. “I simply think you are like many other girls, too ready to depend on the honor of men of whom you know absolutely nothing.” “Thank you.” “Good-by.” “You—you may come to St. Jo. again?” “Possibly, although it is uncertain.” “But you have done so well here this time, and the people liked you so much.” “I know; however, I may not be in the theatrical business next season. I hope to return to college. Good-by.” She held out her hand. “Good-by!” she exclaimed, impulsively. “I wish you all the success you deserve, and that is good fortune in everything.” He took her hand. Then she turned away quickly, and he watched her till she had ascended the steps to her home. Frank was satisfied. No matter what came out of the affair between himself and Dunton, he felt that he had done right. Thinking it all over, he walked onward swiftly. Suddenly he stopped and looked around.