A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
Bob roused himself for a moment.
"Just so," he declared heavily, "just so. Where does Miss Willard come in? You must think I'm a terrible cad, Dill, to ask a lady out for the evening, and leave her like that! Not a bit of it! You go on! Sorry, but can't leave the lady."
Lawrence moved toward his pocket involuntarily. The woman struck his arm lightly.
"That'll do," she said sullenly. "I don't want your money. You think I'm a kind of a bundle, do you? Pick me up and drop me. Well, that's where you make a mistake. Why don't you let your friend alone?"
"Helen—she'll know. You say nobody will," Bob broke in suddenly. "She won't lie, if you will. She'll tell Uncle Owen. What's the use?"
"I won't tell her," Lawrence returned quickly, "and nobody else knows."
"Well, then," Bob faced him cunningly, walking backwards through the comparatively empty cross-street they had turned down, "I think maybe I'll do it. I want to go with Stebbins, all right.
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