"Louis, get up something tasty," he said to the bending _maitre d'hotel_. "You know what I like. Don't bother me with the menu. Louis," he added confidentially, "is a jewel--the one man in New York you can trust." He initialed the check without examining it and laid down a gorgeous tip with a careless flip of the finger. "The little idiot," thought Bojo. "I wonder what bills he's run up. Decidedly I must get a chance at the girl and open her eyes." Chance favored him, or rather Miss Varney herself. Luncheon over, while Fred went out for the car, she said abruptly: "Let's run out in the garden. I want to talk to you. Don't worry, mamma. It's all right." And as Mrs. Varney, true to her grenadierial instincts, prepared to object, she added with a shrug of her shoulders: "Now just doze away like a dear. We can't elope, you know!" "What can she want to say to me?" thought Bojo curiously, suffering her to lead him laughing out through the glass doors into the pebbled paths. Despite his growing alarm, Bojo was forced to admit that Miss Varney, with her quick Japanese eyes and bubbling humor, was a most fascinating person, particularly when she exerted herself to please in little intimate ways. "Mr. Crocker, you don't like me," she said abruptly. He defended himself badly. "Don't fib--you are against me. Why? On account of Fred?" "I don't dislike you--no one could," he said, yielding to the persuasion of her smile, "but if you want to know, I am worried over Fred. He is head over heels in love with you, young lady." "And why not?" "Do you care for him?" "Yes--very much," she said quietly, "and I want you to be our friend." "Good heavens, I really believe she does," he thought, panic-stricken. Aloud he said abruptly: "If that is what you want, let me ask you a question. Please forgive me for being direct. Do you know that Fred hasn't a cent in the world but what he makes? You can judge yourself how he spends that." "But Fred told me he had made a lot lately and I know he expects to make ten times that in something--" she stopped hastily at a look in Bojo's face. "Why, what's wrong?" "Miss Varney--you haven't put anything into it, have you? "Yes, I have," she said after a moment's hesitation. "Why, he told me you yourself told him he couldn't lose. You don't mean to say there's any--any danger?" "I'm sorry. He shouldn't have told you! There's always a risk. I'm sorry he let you do that." "Oh, I oughtn't to have let it out," she said contritely. "Promise not to tell him. I didn't mean to! Besides--it's not much really." Bojo shook his head. "Mr. Crocker-- Tom," she said, laying her hand on his arm, "don't turn him against me. I'm being square with you. I do care for Fred. I don't care if he hasn't a cent in the world; really I'm not that sort, honest." "And your mother?" She was silent, and he seized the advantage.