If only folks were wholly good or wholly bad, therefore deserving of absolute punishment or absolute reward as in the movies, life and its living would be less of a strain. So philosophized Peter Pape. If, for instance, Jane were a perfect heroine, she would have loved and trusted him at first sight, as he had her. If he were a _reel_ hero, either caveman or domesticated, he’d have conquered her by brawn or brain long ere this pitiable pass. Mills Harford, as rival, would have been ulteriorly and interiorly bad, rather than a likeable, fine chap much more worthy the girl, no doubt, than himself. Judge Allen, as builder of barriers between them, should be a long-nosed, hard-voiced, scintillating personage, instead of the rosy, round, restrained little man he was. And “the young lady of to-day”—There would be needed a long explanatory sub-title between a close-up of that guilelessly guilty, tender torment and one of her prototype, the histrionic, hectic vamp of yesteryear. Still stationed on the curb, Pape gained strength from these theories to advance into consideration of his most effective and immediate course toward the end of his present adventure. He had decided that he must continue his attempt to serve in the disintegrated triumvirate, that he must again force his presence upon Jane if she did not send for him soon, that he must fail absolutely to recognize the insidious claims of Irene, when he became conscious of the purring approach of a sport car. On hearing himself hailed by name, he looked up and saw that the man behind the wheel was Mills Harford. “Have they come or gone?” the real-estater asked. “Both.” Pape’s mind still was somewhat afield. “Just my luck to be too late. Mrs. Sturgis might have ’phoned me sooner. Seems to me I should have been sent for first, whatever the scrape. Tell me, she got off all right—Miss Lauderdale?” “Why not?” Pape nodded, his mental eye upon the good and bad in this rival to whom the baby vamp in the cast had erroneously assigned the successful suitor rôle. “We both are loose,” he added. “She got off scot-free and I, fortunately, was able to pay my fine. Mr. Allen fixed everything. He’s a capable somebody, the judge, a valuable acquaintance for anybody restricted to life in an overgrown town like N’ York. He has a new client if anything else happens to me.” At these assorted remarks Harford’s manner changed. The concern on his handsome face made way for a positive glare as he leaned over the side of the car toward his informant. “Can’t say I’m greatly concerned in what may or may not happen to you in the near or far future, Pape, but I’ll contribute gratis a word or two of advice. Remember that you are in the semi-civilization of N’ York Town, not the wild and woolly. Be a bit more careful.”