"I don't know what you pretend to be, sir; but it may interest you to know that _I_ am the governor of South Carolina!" "And this gentleman," cried Jerry, pointing to Ardmore with her riding-crop, "though his hair is mussed and his scarf visibly untied, is none other than the governor of North Carolina, and he is not only on his own property, but in the sovereign state of which he is the chief executive." Professor Griswold lifted his hat with the least flourish. "I congratulate the state of North Carolina on having reposed authority in hands so capable. If this young lady is correct, sir, I will serve official notice on you that I have reason to believe that a person named Appleweight, a fugitive from justice, is hiding on your property and in your state, and I now formally demand that you surrender him forthwith." "If I may introduce myself," interposed Jerry, "I will say to you that my name is Geraldine Dangerfield, and that this Appleweight person is now at Mr. Ardmore's house." "I suppose," replied Miss Osborne with gentle irony, "that he has the pink parlor and leads the conversation at table." "You are quite mistaken," replied Ardmore; "but if it would afford you any satisfaction to see the outlaw you may look upon him in my wine cellar, where, only an hour ago, I left him sitting on a case of Chateau Bizet '82. My further intentions touching this scoundrelly South Carolinian I need not now disclose; but I give you warning that the Appleweight issue will soon and forever be terminated and in a manner that will greatly redound to the credit and the glory of the Old North State." Professor Griswold's hand went to his mustache with a gesture that smote Ardmore, for he knew that it hid that inscrutable smile that had always baffled him. "I trust," said Griswold, "that the prisoner, whom we can not for a moment concede to be the real Appleweight, will not be exposed to scarlet fever, pending a settlement of this matter. It is my understanding that the Bizet '82 is a fraudulent vintage that has never been nearer France than Paris, Illinois, and if the prisoner in your cellar drinks of it I shall hold you officially responsible for the consequences. And now, I have the honor to bid you both good morning." He and Barbara swung their horses round and retraced their way, leaving Ardmore and Jerry gazing after them. When the shabby beasts from the stable at Turner Court House had borne Miss Osborne and Griswold out of sight beyond the bungalow, Ardmore turned blankly to Jerry. "Have I gone blind or anything? Unless I'm crazy that was dear old Grissy, but who is that girl?" "That is Miss Barbara Osborne, and I hope she has learned such a lesson that she will not be snippy to me any more, if she _is_ the president-general of the Daughters of the Seminole War." "But where do you suppose she found Grissy?" "I don't know, I'm sure; nor, Mr. Ardmore, do I care."