Fleetwood suddenly sat up, spilling the handkerchief to the floor. When Valeria essayed to push him back he put her hand gently away. He rose and came over to Kent. “Is this straight goods?” he demanded. “Why don't you stop it?” “Fred De Garmo's running this show. My influence wouldn't go as far--” Fleetwood turned to the girl, and his manner was masterful. “I'm going out with Kent--oh, Val, this is Mr. Burnett. Kent, Miss Peyson. I forgot you two aren't acquainted.” From Valeria's manner, they were in no danger of becoming friends. Her acknowledgment was barely perceptible. Kent bowed stiffly. “I'm going to see about this, Val,” continued Fleetwood. “Oh, my head's better--a lot better, really. Maybe we'd better leave town--” “If your head is better, I don't see why we need run away from a lot of silly noise,” Valeria interposed, with merciless logic. “They'll think we're awful cowards.” “Well, I'll try and find out--I won't be gone a minute, dear.” After that word, spoken before another, he appeared to be in great haste, and pushed Kent rather unceremoniously through the door. In the dining room, Kent diplomatically included the landlady in the conference, by a gesture of much mystery bringing her in from the kitchen, where she had been curiously peeping out at them. “Got to let her in,” he whispered to Manley, “to keep her face closed.” They murmured together for five minutes. Kent seemed to meet with some opposition from Fleetwood--an aftermath of Valeria's objections to flight--and became brutally direct. “Go ahead--do as you please,” he said roughly. “But you know that bunch. You'll have to show up, and you'll have to set 'em up, and--aw, thunder! By morning you'll be plumb laid out. You'll be headed into one of your four-day jags, and you know it. I was thinking of the girl--but if you don't care, I guess it's none of my funeral. Go to it--but darned if I'd want to start my honeymoon out like that!” Fleetwood weakened, but still he hesitated. “If I didn't show up--” he began hopefully. But Kent wittered him with a look. “That bunch will be two-thirds full before they start out. If you don't show up, they'll go up and haul you outa bed--hell, Man! You'd likely start in to kill somebody off. Fred De Garmo don't love you much better than he loves me. You know what him and his friends would do then, I should think.” He stopped, and seemed to consider briefly a plan, but shook his head over it. “I could round up a bunch and stand 'em off, maybe--but we'd be shooting each other up, first rattle of the box. It's a whole lot easier for you to get outa town.”