Gid-up would say: “We’ll make it like this.” And Gee-gee would answer: “No, like this.” Of course, Gee-gee’s way was better. Upon a slender thread of fact she fashioned, as Dickie had feared, a most wonderful edifice of fancy. She had mapped out a case that would startle even dear old New York. “Better do it good, if we’re going to do it at all,” she had said. Gid-up had been a little doubtful at first, but she always did what Gee-gee told her to in the end. And Gee-gee knew she could depend upon Gid-up’s memory, for once the latter had had a small part. She had to say: “Send for the doctor” and she had never been known to get mixed up and say: “Send for the police,” or for the undertaker, or anything equally ridiculous. Having thoroughly rehearsed her lines, she would stick to them like a major. When Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence and the two G’s should get together on the morrow, the largest anticipations of the two former ladies would be realized. Gee-gee wouldn’t have Mrs. Dan disappointed for the world. Gid-up was rather afraid of Mrs. Clarence; however, she had been batted about by so many rough stage-managers and cranky musical-directors, she could stand almost anything. But what about Bob? * * * * * That young gentleman, now seated in the hammer-thrower’s room, had frankly revealed what had happened to bring him out in the hall. In a low tone he told why he had approached Gee-gee’s door and what had been in his mind when he had placed his hand on the knob. The hammer-thrower, if not appearing particularly impressed by Bob’s story, listened gravely; occasionally he shook his head. It wasn’t, on the whole, a very reasonable-sounding yarn. Truth certainly sounded stranger than fiction in this instance. Bob couldn’t very well blame the other for not believing. Still he (Bob) owed him that explanation. Though he (Bob) might detest him as the man who would probably rob him of Miss Gerald’s hand, still the fact remained that the hammer-thrower appeared at present in the guise of his (Bob’s) savior. Bob couldn’t get away from this unpleasant conclusion. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the other and yet here he was in his room, actually being shielded by him. The situation was, indeed, well-nigh intolerable. The hammer-thrower studied Bob with quiet earnest eyes, and the latter had to acknowledge to himself that the man’s face was strong and capable. If Miss Gerald married him—as seemed not unlikely—she would, at any rate, not get a weak man. He was about as big as Bob, though not so reckless-looking. Bob was handsomer, in his dashing way, but some girls, sensibly inclined, would prefer what might appear a more reliable type. The hammer-thrower looked so sure of himself and his ground he inspired confidence. He looked too sure of his ground now, as regards Bob.