“No joke whatever--,” declared Chester. “It comes from one of Red's devoted friends--his own invention. And the point of the thing is that the making of that rat-trap is going to be the making of the worst dead-beat of a patient Red ever stood by. I really believe Joe Tressler's going to get a patent on it, which also will be Red's doing. But this is a special, particular rat-trap made of extra fine materials, suitable for a wedding gift!” “Well, well,” mused Burns's brother-in-law. “And what millionaire sent the diamond pendant? By Jove, I haven't seen finer jewels than those this side of the water.” “That came from the Walworths, I believe. Take it all together, it's a great collection, isn't it? It shows up the odder because Ellen wouldn't have the freak grateful-patient gifts put to one side--or even thrown into a sort of refining shadow. Fix your eye on that rainbow quilt, will you, Dicky, alongside of the Florentine tapestry? That quilt would put out your eye if you gazed upon it steadily, so let up on it by regarding this match-safe. Wouldn't that--” “That came from Johnny Caruthers,” said a richly modulated low voice behind him. “Please set it down carefully, Mr. Arthur Chester.” The two men wheeled to see the bride come to the defense of her wedding gifts. Behind her loomed her husband, laughing over her head, his eyes none the less tender, like hers, for the queer presents which meant no less of love and gratitude than the costlier gifts, of which there was no mean array. “I see you've married him, patients and all, Ellen Burns,” declared Richard Warburton. “On the whole, it's your wisest course. The less he knows you mind their devotion to him--” “Mind it!” She gave him the flash of which the soft black eyes were brilliantly capable. “Dick, I have no gift I like so well as that rat-trap. You don't know the story, but I do, and it means to me--fidelity to duty. And if there's one great big thing in the world I think it's that!” Over her head, Dick Warburton nodded at his brother-in-law. “I'm glad we've got her into the family, Red,” said he. “It's a mighty rare thing to find a beautiful woman who knows how to dress like a picture, with that ideal at the back of her head! Cherish her, Red. If you don't I'll come around and knock you down!” “I'll let you do it,” agreed Burns soberly. All his marriage vows were in his face. It was quite dusk when the Green Imp got away. Johnny Caruthers had the satisfaction of lighting up the car's lamps--always a joy to him, and particularly so to-night, for even the oil taillight bore witness to his trimming and polishing till its red eye could gleam no brighter. As for the front lamps and the searchlight the Imp's progress would be as down an avenue of brilliance if its driver allowed them all full play upon the road. “She's in great trim, Johnny,” said Burns's voice in his ear. “I like her looks immensely. I shall hate to get a speck of mud on her.”