Mrs. Toomey had the feeling that he comprehended perfectly every emotion she was experiencing--her fright, her mortification, her disgust at Jap's maudlin speech and foolish appearance. But it was something more than these things which had caused her to look at him frequently. He reminded her of some one, yet she could not identify the resemblance. In their exchange of glances she now caught a sympathetic flash; then he rose immediately and came over. "May I be of service, brother?" As he spoke he indicated the small button he wore which corresponded to another on Toomey's waistcoat. With a slight inclination of the head towards Mrs. Toomey, "If you'll allow me--" The relieved waiter promptly fled with the note he laid on the plate. "These situations are a little awkward for the moment," he added, smiling slightly. "Mighty nice of you, Old Top!" Toomey shook hands with him. "Lemme buy you somethin'. Wha'll you have?" The stranger declined and thanked him. Mrs. Toomey expressed her gratitude incoherently. "You must leave your name and address; we'll mail you a check to-morrow." "I always stay at the Auditorium. Mail addressed to me there will be forwarded." He laid his visiting card upon the table. Toomey placed a detaining hand upon his arm as he turned from the table. "Look here! Won't let you go till you promise come make us a visit--stay month--stay year--stay rest o' your life--la'sh string hanging' out for you. Pure air, Swizzerland of America, an' greatest natural resources--" The stranger detached himself gently. "I appreciate your hospitality," he replied courteously. "Who knows?" to Mrs. Toomey, "I might some day look in on you--I've never been out in that section of the country." With another bow he paid his own account and left the restaurant. "Thoroughbred!" declared Toomey enthusiastically. "Old Dear, I made a hit with him." Mrs. Toomey was staring after the erect commanding figure. She read again the name on the card she held in her fingers and murmured with an expression of speculative wonder: "The spelling's different but--Prentiss! and she looks enough like him to be his daughter." CHAPTER XVI STRAWS It was spring. The sagebrush had turned from gray to green and the delicate pink of the rock roses showed here and there on the hillsides. The crisp rattle of cottonwood leaves was heard when the wind stirred through the gulches, and along the water course the drooping plumes of the willows were pale green and tender. It was the season of hope, of energy revived and new ambitions--the months of rejuvenation, when the blood runs faster and the heart beats higher.