“You—you don’t mean to say you’re engaged to her?” came back in choked tones. “No. She’s only my jolly little pal. But she thinks a lot of what I tell her and I’ll pick out a real man for her some day. You aren’t good enough. A chap that will punch another chap when he can’t defend himself isn’t the chap for jolly little pal.” “I didn’t punch you when you couldn’t defend yourself,” said Dickie indignantly. “I’m the one to know. You gave it to me all right, and thereby settled your chances with her. Do you think I’d let a girl like her marry a chap like you? Why, you might come home and beat your wife! You’re capable of it. I refuse my consent absolutely. I shall advise her to have nothing whatever to do with you.” Dickie couldn’t speak and Bob left him in a state of coma. This time Bob was suffered to leave the telephone booth. He was awfully glad they had the maniac-medico locked up. Maybe he would get a cute little room with a cunning little window, and maybe there’d be a landscape? But there wouldn’t be any flowers. Just at this moment the temperamental little thing hurried up to Bob in a state of great agitation. He saw that something serious had happened. CHAPTER XX—HAND-READING “Did you get rid of it?” he asked hurriedly. “I did not,” she gasped. “That mean old monocle-man wouldn’t let me. He’s just kept his eye on me every moment. When I went up-stairs, he followed. There he is now. See how he’s watching us. Oh, what shall I do, if they find me with it?” “Give it to me,” said Bob. “No, I won’t.” “But do you realize what it means if they find it on you?” he asked in alarm. “We would go to jail together,” said jolly little pal. “But I won’t have you go to jail. It’s preposterous.” “Maybe I deserve it,” she remarked, “for having ‘peached.’ I hope,” wistfully, “our cells will be close together. Did you have a nice dance with Miss Gerald?” “Give it to me,” commanded Bob sternly. “If you don’t, I’ll—I’ll take it from you.” But she put her hand behind her. “Isn’t Gwendoline the most beautiful thing in the world?” she said. “We’ll talk about her in jail. It’ll help pass the time.” “Give—” “I’m not the least bit jealous, because now I’m only your really-truly little pal,” she went on. “I wish I could be your best man. But I don’t suppose that’s feasible.” “Give—” “I might swallow it,” she observed tentatively. “Great heavens!” he reached for her hand. “Aw!—fortune-telling?” said a voice. “Yes; he was just going to read my palm,” answered jolly little pal promptly while Bob turned rather nervously to regard the monocle-man. “Perhaps—aw!—I could read it,” suggested the monocle-man, looking at the closed fingers. “I have some—aw!—skill that way. Perhaps, Miss Dolly—aw!—you would permit me to look at your heart line?” “I just won’t,” said Miss Dolly, with flashing eyes. Bob watched her closely. If she tried to swallow it, he would stop her.