"Not very well," admitted the Watermelon. "I was through here last summer and stopped over night at their place. They were fine people, all right. They told me if I ever came this way again to drop in and I said I would. It was a sort of joke. They gave me a latch-key." He drew a key from his pocket and held it out as proof of his integrity. "Huh," said the man dully, gazing from the key to the Watermelon. The second man took it. "Which door does it fit?" he asked. "The front door," said the Watermelon promptly. "Go try it if you want proof." "Not so fast," said the second man, who had taken the affair into his own hands. "If you know the Browns, tell me something about them? No, you chuffer feller, hold on, back there. Don’t try to slip by, for you can’t. You automobilists think that the Lord created Heaven and earth for your benefit and then rested on the seventh day and has been resting ever since. That’s better. Now, then—" turning again to the Watermelon—"how many in the family?" "How many?" queried the Watermelon. "I don’t know. I only saw Ma and Pa and the three kids, Dick and Lizzie and Sarah. Sarah was a young lady about twenty, if I remember rightly; Lizzie was eight and Dick was a bit older, ten or twelve—twelve, I think he said. I remember his birthday came in January, anyway." "Well, goldarn it," laughed the first man, thoroughly convinced. "Well, say, ain’t we the easy marks?" "Don’t blame yourselves," said the Watermelon gently. "Father used to say that anything colossal, even stupidity, was worthy of admiration." "What did Dick look like?" demanded the second man, loath to give up. The Watermelon straightened up. "See here, my man," said he sternly, "we are in a hurry. You have detained us long enough. I have told you as much as I am going to about the Browns. It’s a year ago this summer that I was there and I haven’t been dwelling on their beautiful countenances in rapt and joyful contemplation ever since. I have seen a few people during the interval. Dick was fairly good looking, but Lizzie was the cutest. I took them through the cow lane to show them how they could go for the cows in a motor-car, farming up-to-date, see. Now move aside and let us pass, please." "No, you don’t," returned the man sharply. "Let that chuffer feller in the back car come up to the house with me while I try this key. Tom, you keep the others here, till I come back." The Watermelon leaned back wearily indifferent and drew out his cigarette papers. Alphonse climbed obediently from the car, with his usual imperturbability. Calmly and willingly he scaled the stone wall and set off across the field with his captor. Tom thoughtfully examined his gun, one eye on the motor-cars.