“I am tickled to death to see you, of course,” declared Carroll soberly. “But at the same time I am completely staggered by your visit. This is the first time you have ever braved your uncle’s wrath by venturing into the _Bulletin_ office, so I can’t help thinking that something serious must have happened.” “Not at all,” was the smiling answer. “I am here merely on a matter of business. As I explained to the nice young man who greeted me at the door, I have come to try to sell you some photographs.” She opened her hand bag, and, taking therefrom some films, threw them upon the desk. As Carroll picked them up, he uttered an exclamation of joyous amazement. “Look here, Frank,” he cried excitedly. “A miracle, if ever there was one! If these are not the negatives, I’ll eat my hat.” The Camera Chap stared at the pictures. “By Jove, so they are!” he exclaimed jubilantly. “This is too good to be true, Miss Gale. May I inquire how you got them, or is it a secret?” Melba had no desire to make a secret of it, and, in as few words as possible, she explained the ruse she had employed. Carroll and the Camera Chap chuckled with glee over her story, but suddenly the former grew grave. “It is mighty fine of you to have done this thing for me, little girl,” he said, “and I shall never forget it; but, of course, it is quite out of the question for us to use these pictures now.” “Why?” exclaimed Melba, in dismay. “What’s the matter with them?” “Because it would get you in bad with your uncle if we were to use them,” said Carroll. “Do you suppose for a minute that I’m going to permit you to get into trouble for my sake?” Melba shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I’m going to get into trouble, anyway,” she said. “Whether or not you publish the pictures won’t make the slightest difference, Fred. My uncle has learned by this time of the deception I practiced on his photo-engraver, and, of course, he must realize why I sought to gain possession of those negatives. Naturally he and my cousin will be very angry, and I suppose there’ll be a scene when they come home this evening.” She laughed defiantly. “But I don’t care. If they say anything to me I’ll tell them plainly just what I think of their shameful conduct.” Carroll looked at her admiringly. In spite of her defiant attitude, he knew that she secretly dreaded the ordeal before her. Old Delancey Gale’s anger never took the form of violence; it found vent in sneering, caustic sentences which, to a girl of Melba’s sensitive nature, were much more painful than abuse. Carroll was aware, for she often confided the fact to him, how greatly she feared her uncle’s venomous tongue. “You’re a brave little girl,” he said tenderly. “But I’m awfully sorry that you’ve put yourself in bad on my account. But perhaps it isn’t too late, even now.” “Not too late for what?” the girl inquired.