“Don’t, please don’t,” she said. “It’s all right.” Her natural high spirits were returning. “Everything’s all right. Mr. Reivers never breaks his word, and he’s promised—you heard him, you say? And you’ve promised to be my—what did you call it?—‘side-kicker,’ so everything’s fine. Except—” a look of disgust passed over her eyes—“your drinking. Oh,” she cried as she saw the shame flare into Toppy’s face, “I didn’t mean to hurt you—but how can nice boys like you throw themselves away?” Nice boy! Toppy looked at his toes for a long time. So that was what she thought of him! Nice boy! “Do you know much about Reivers?” he asked at last, as if he had forgotten her words. “Or don’t you want to tell me about him?” He had sensed that he was infinitely Reivers’ inferior in her estimation, and it hurt. “Certainly I do,” she said. “Mr. Reivers was a foreman for the company that my father was estimator for. When father was hurt last Summer Mr. Reivers came to see him on company business. It’s father’s spine; he couldn’t move; Reivers had to come to him. He saw me, and two hours after our meeting he—he asked me to marry him. He asked me again a week later, and once after that. Then I told him that I never could care for him and he went away and promised he’d never trouble me again. You heard our conversation. I hadn’t seen or heard of him since, until he walked into this room. That’s all I know about him, except that people say he never breaks his word.” Toppy winced as he caught the note of confidence in her voice and thought of the sudden deadly treachery of Reivers in dealing with Rosky. The girl with a lithe movement threw off her mackinaw. “By Jove!” Toppy exploded in boyish admiration. “You’re the bravest little soul I ever saw in my life! Going against a game like this, just to help your father!” “Well, why shouldn’t I?” she asked. “I’m the only one father has got. We’re all alone, father and I; and father is too proud to take help from any one else; and—and,” she concluded firmly, “so am I. As for being brave—have you anything against Mr. Reivers personally?” Thoroughly routed, Toppy turned to the door. “Good night, Miss Pearson,” he said politely. “Good night, Mr. Treplin. And thank you for—going out of your way.” But had she seen the flash in Toppy’s eye and the set of his jaw she might not have laughed so merrily as he flung out of the room. In the store on the other side of the hallway Toppy was surprised to find Tilly, the squaw, waiting patiently behind a low counter on which lay a pair of blankets bearing a tag “XX.” As he entered, the woman pushed the blankets toward him and pointed to a card lying on the counter. “Put um name here,” she said, indicating a dotted line on the card and offering Toppy a pencil tied on a string.