The merry laughter with which she greeted his sally obviously pleased him, and she was quick to note and take advantage of it. She moved directly away from the door and toward the sideboard. “Come, you must tell me all about it while I get that drink for you. What will it be? Whisky?” “Yes, ma'am,” he said, as he followed her, though he still carried the big revolver at his side, and though he glanced reluctantly at the unguarded open door. She filled a glass for him at the sideboard. “I promised to drink with you,” she said hesitatingly. “But I don't like whisky. I... I prefer sherry.” She lifted the sherry bottle tentatively for his consent. “Sure,” he answered, with a nod. “Whisky's a man's drink. I never like to see women at it. Wine's more their stuff.” She raised her glass to his, her eyes meltingly sympathetic. “Here's to finding you a good position--” But she broke off at sight of the expression of surprised disgust on his face. The glass, barely touched, was removed from his wry lips. “What is the matter!” she asked anxiously. “Don't you like it? Have I made a mistake?” “It's sure funny whisky. Tastes like it got burned and smoked in the making.” “Oh! How silly of me! I gave you Scotch. Of course you are accustomed to rye. Let me change it.” She was almost solicitiously maternal, as she replaced the glass with another and sought and found the proper bottle. “Better?” she asked. “Yes, ma'am. No smoke in it. It's sure the real good stuff. I ain't had a drink in a week. Kind of slick, that; oily, you know; not made in a chemical factory.” “You are a drinking man?” It was half a question, half a challenge. “No, ma'am, not to speak of. I HAVE rared up and ripsnorted at spells, but most unfrequent. But there is times when a good stiff jolt lands on the right spot kerchunk, and this is sure one of them. And now, thanking you for your kindness, ma'am, I'll just be a pulling along.” But Mrs. Setliffe did not want to lose her burglar. She was too poised a woman to possess much romance, but there was a thrill about the present situation that delighted her. Besides, she knew there was no danger. The man, despite his jaw and the steady brown eyes, was eminently tractable. Also, farther back in her consciousness glimmered the thought of an audience of admiring friends. It was too bad not to have that audience. “You haven't explained how burglary, in your case, is merely collecting what is your own,” she said. “Come, sit down, and tell me about it here at the table.”