"M'm-m!" She pursed her lips and frowned thoughtfully. "And he just wants you to go out with him, hit or miss?" "That seems to be it, ma'am. And I don't think I'll go--now." "Now? What do you mean, now?" A wave of red ran over Hiram's face, and he began stammering. The hint of a smile flickered across Lucy's lips as she hurried on without his answer. Hiram was a big man, ruggedly handsome. It pleased Lucy's vanity to have him gawk at her as he did. "I think I can find out something about this gentleman," she said. "He came in the restaurant a few days ago, and I noticed two business men I know quite well talking about him. I'll find out something about this Tweet for you, and let you know. You don't want to let anybody play you for a sucker." "Oh, I can take care of myself when it comes to that." "_Yes_, you can!" She laughed. "You'll lose some of that confidence before you've been here many days. Now don't be offended. Shall I get this dope on him, if I can?" "I'd thank you kindly, ma'am." "Well, I will, then. Now let's forget it and talk about Mendocino. Go on--you talk so little." CHAPTER IX HIRAM WAKES UP Hiram walked with an elastic step from Lucy Dalles' rooming house. It was hard to believe that all that was happening to him was true. In a sort of haze that floated before him as he walked along hung Lucy's face. He wished to go on forever thus. He found no fault in her--he refused to. Some imp whispered to him that his fifteen dollars and fifty cents would last forever. He did not actually believe this, but he refused to worry over the matter. Fate was kind. He was living a dream--and who needs money in Dreamland? It was like the slap of a cold towel when Tweet's face suddenly displaced Lucy's in the haze. Up there in the lounging room Tweet had been waiting for him four hours! Tweet was doubtless hungry--he, Hiram, had been to a feast of love! He felt like sneaking away to another lodging house till Tweet had disappeared. But he did not. Instead he sneaked up the dusty stairs and through the door of the lounging room. Tweet was there, half hidden behind his paper. Hiram sidled into a seat, swallowed twice, and said "Hello." Tweet at once lowered the paper and looked at him at if he did not quite recall his face. "Why, hello there!" he returned carelessly. "Back, eh? Here's somethin' may int'rest you." He got up, folding the paper, and carried it over to Hiram, pointing to an article headed: "New Ditch Digger Makes Good." Hiram stared at the heading in dire confusion. He had been half prepared for a rating; Tweet's complete disregard of his remissness was distressing. "Mr. Tweet, I've got to apologize," he began.