The lawyer shook his head, but I didn't believe it was ended between them; Dykeman was the devil to hang on to a point. This would come up again after I was gone. Meantime I made haste to shove the photographs before them. Cummings passed them back with an indifferent, "What's the idea?" "You don't recognize him?" "Never saw the man in my life," and again he asked, "What's the idea?" "You'd recognize a picture of Clayte?" I countered with a question of my own. "Yes--I think so," rather dubiously. "But Dykeman would. Show them to him." Dykeman reached for the photographs, spread them out before him, then looked up from them peevishly to say, "For the good Lord's sake! Don't look any more like Clayte than it does like a horned toad. Is that what you've been wasting your time over, Boyne? If you ask me--" "I don't ask you anything," retrieving the pictures, planting them deep in an inner pocket. Then I got myself out of the room. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the Fremont House, I felt sort of bewildered. This last crack had taken all the pep I had left. I suddenly realized it was long after dinner time, and I'd had no dinner, no lunch, nothing to eat since an early breakfast. Worth had sent me to the girl--and I hadn't gone. I dragged myself around to Capehart's cottage as nearly whipped as I ever was in my life. I found Barbara with Laura Bowman, every one else off the place, out at the shows. Those girls sure were good to me; they fed me and didn't ask questions till I was ready to talk. Nothing to be said really, except that I'd failed. I told them of meeting the Vandemans, and gave them Ina Vandeman's opinion as to how Worth's friends should conduct themselves just now. "So they'll all be out there," I concluded, "Vandeman and his wife leading the grand march, her sisters as maids of honor--except Skeet, staying at home with her mother. Cummings goes as a Roman soldier; Doctor Bowman as a Spanish cavalier. Edwards didn't see it as the Vandemans do, but after I'd talked to him awhile, he agreed to be there." And suddenly I noticed for the first time how the relative position of these two women had shifted. Laura Bowman wasn't red-headed for nothing; out from under the blight of Bowman and that hateful marriage, she had already thrown off some of her physical frailness; the nervous tension showed itself now in energy. She was moving swiftly about putting to rights after my meal while she listened. But Barbara sat looking straight ahead of her; I knew she was seeing streets full of carnival, every friend and acquaintance out at a ball--and Worth in a murderer's cell. It wouldn't do. I jumped to my feet with a brisk, "Girl, where's your hat? We'll go to the study and look over all our points once more. Get busy--get busy. That's the medicine for you." She gave me a miserable look and a negative shake of the head; but I still urged, "Worth sent me to you. The last thing he said was, 'Take it to Bobs.'"