“I do wish you two would be sensible, and stop quarreling.” She glanced at him briefly. “I'm willing to cut it out--I told you that. I can't answer for him, though.” Rowdy sighed, wishing Harry Conroy in Australia, or some place equally remote. Miss Conroy suddenly resolved to be strictly just; and when a young woman sets about being deliberately just, the Lord pity him whom she judges! “Before I answer you, I must know just what all this is about,” she said firmly. “I want to hear both sides; I'm sure Harry wouldn't do anything mean. Do you think he would?” Rowdy was dissentingly silent. “Do you really, in your heart, believe that Harry would--knowingly--be guilty of anything mean?” Her eyes plainly told the answer she wanted to hear. Rowdy looked into them, hesitated, and clung tenaciously to his convictions. “Yes, I do; and I know Harry pretty well, Jessie.” His face showed how much he hated to say it. “I'm afraid you are very prejudiced,” she sighed. “But go on; tell me just what you have against Harry. I'm sure it can all be explained away, only I must hear what it is.” Rowdy regarded her, puzzled. How he was to comply he did not know. It would be simply brutal to tell her. He would feel like a hangman. And she believed so in Harry, she wouldn't listen; even if she did, he thought bitterly, she would hate him for destroying her faith. A woman's justice--ah, me! “Don't you see you're putting me in a mighty hard position, girlie?” he protested. “You're a heap better off not to know. He's your brother. I wish you'd take my word that I'll drop the whole thing right where it is. Harry's had all the best of it, so far; let it stand that way.” Her eyes met his coldly. “Are you afraid to let me judge between you? What did he do? Daren't you tell?” Rowdy's lids drooped ominously. “If you call that a dare,” he said grimly, “I'll tell you, fast enough. I was a friend to him when he needed one mighty bad. I helped him when he was dead broke and out uh work. I kept him going all winter--and to show his gratitude, he gave me the doublecross, in more ways than one. I won't go into details.” He decided that he simply could not tell her bluntly that Harry had worked off stolen horses on him, and worse. “Oh--you won't go into details!” Scorn filled eyes and voice. “Are they so trivial, then? You tell me what you did for Harry--playing Good Samaritan. Harry, let me tell you, has property of his own; I can't see why he should ever be in need of charity. You're like all the rest; you hint things against him--but I believe it's just jealousy. You can't come out honestly and tell me a single instance where he has harmed you, or done anything worse than other high-spirited young men.” “It wouldn't do any good to tell you,” he retorted. “You think he's just lacking wings to be an angel. I hope to God you'll always be able to think so! I'm sure I don't want to jar your faith.”