Bob nodded. He had to, it was in the contract. The lady laughed again right gaily. “Dan always did like the turf,” she breathed softly. “So fond of the track, or anything equine.” For the moment Bob became again almost suspicious of her, she was _such_ a “good fellow”! And Bob wasn’t revengeful; because he had suffered himself he didn’t wish the commodore any harm. Of course it would be rather a ghastly joke on the commodore if Mrs. Dan wasn’t such a “good fellow” as she seemed. But Bob dismissed that contingency. He was helpless, anyway. He was no more than a chip in a stream. The current of Mrs. Dan’s questions carried him along. “And what did the pony Dan got, look like?” “I think she had reddish hair.” “How lurid! I suppose you all had a few ponies with the ponies?” Jocularly. “Yes,” said the answering-machine. “I suppose the ponies had names? They usually do,” she rattled on. “Yes. They had names, of course.” “What was Dan’s called?” The orchestra was playing a little louder now—one of those wild pieces—a rhapsody! “Don’t know her real name.” “Her stage name, then?” “Not sure of that!” Doubtfully. “But Dan _must_ have called her something?” With a gay little laugh. “Yes.” Bob hesitated. In spite of that funereal feeling, he couldn’t suppress a grin. “He called her Gee-gee.” “Gee-gee!” almost shrieked the lady. Then she laughed harder than ever. She was certainly a good actress. At that moment she caught Mrs. Clarence Van Duzen’s eye; it was coldly questioning. “And what did the pony Clarence got, look like?” Mrs. Dan had passed the stage of analyzing or reasoning clearly. She didn’t even ask herself why Bob wasn’t more evasive. She didn’t want to know whether it was that “good-fellow” manner on her part that had really deceived him into unbosoming the truth to her, or whether—well, he had been drinking too much? He held himself soberly enough, it is true, but there are strong men who look sober and can walk a chalk line, when they aren’t sober at all. Bob might belong to that class. She thought she had detected something on his breath when he passed on the links and he might have been “hitting it up” pretty hard since, on the side, with some of the men. In “vino veritas”! But whether “vino,” or denseness on his part, she was sure of the “veritas.” Instinct told her she had heard the truth. “And Clarence’s pony—did she have red hair, too?” She put the question in a different way, for Bob was hesitating again. “No.” “What was its hue?” “Peroxide, I guess.” Gloomily. “Is that all you remember?” Mrs. Dan now was plying questions recklessly, regardlessly, as if Bob were on the witness-stand and she were state prosecutor. “About all. Oh!—her nose turned up and she had a freckle.” “How interesting!” Mrs. Dan’s laugh was rather forced, and she and Mrs. Clarence again exchanged glances, but Bob didn’t notice. “And what was she called?” Breathing a little hard. “Gid-up,” said Bob gravely.