He drew out a cardcase and gave her a delicate bit of cardboard, with his name engraved upon it.

"Frank Merriwell," she read. "Why, that is a splendid name, and it seems to fit you so well! I like you all the better for your name."

"Whew!" thought Frank. "That is point-blank, and still she says she is not sentimental. She may not be, but she is decidedly complimentary on short acquaintance."

Aloud, he said:

"I am happy there is something about me that you admire, if it is no more than my name."

She smiled, looking at him in a big-eyed, innocent way.

"Why, I didn't say that was all. I have not known you long enough to tell. I am no gifted detective, and I cannot read your character at a glance."

"Well, supposing we say the detective was a freak or a myth, and relegate him to the background."

"That goes," she said.

Then she clapped her hand over her mouth, with a little exclamation of dismay, quickly exclaiming:

"That is dreadful! I completely forgot myself! You see, I have been away to school, and I caught on to some slang there, and I find I can't shake it, although mamma doesn't like to have me make such breaks."

She paused, a look of the utmost dismay coming to her face, as if she just realized what she had been saying.

It was with the utmost difficulty Frank restrained his laughter. At the same time he felt his liking and admiration for the strange girl growing swiftly. The little slip into slang seemed to add to her innocence, especially when followed by such utter dismay.

"I am bound to do it occasionally," she said, after a few moments. "I can't seem to get out of the habit, although I have tried. I trust you will pardon me."

"Certainly."

"Thank you. I'll keep this card. I have none of my own with me. My name is Isa Isban."

Somehow, that name was a shock to Frank. He could not have told why, to save his life, but there was something unpleasant about it. It did not seem to fit the girl at all.

However, this feeling soon pa.s.sed, and they were chatting freely in a short time. Their conversation drifted from topic to topic, and Frank was delighted to find his fair companion wondrously well informed on subjects such as are given little attention by most young girls. She could even talk politics rationally, and she rather worsted Frank on a tariff discussion.

"You are beyond my comprehension," he declared, admiringly. "Where you ever learned so much is more than I can understand."

"Do you fancy that young men are the only ones who know things? If you do, you are sure to find there are others---- Oh, dear! there I go again."

Having become so well acquainted, Frank asked if she were bound for San Francisco, and, to his disappointment, she informed him that Carson City was her destination.

The conductor came through the train for tickets. Frank had his ready, and the girl began searching for hers, but had not found it when the conductor came along.

"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed, and Frank was about to offer to aid her, if she needed a loan, when she opened her purse and took out several bills, every one of them new and crisp, and of large denominations.

"The smallest I have is fifty dollars," she said. "Papa gave me large bills, as he said they would not be so bulky."

"I can't change a bill of that size," said the conductor.

"I can," put in Frank, immediately producing his pocketbook. "I will break it for you."

So he took the new bank-note, and gave her two twenties, a five and five ones for it, enabling her to pay her fare without difficulty.

The conductor gave the girl a rebate ticket and pa.s.sed on.

"Thank you so much!" she said to Frank. "I believe I may have trouble in getting those large bills broken. Would you mind giving me small bills for another fifty?"

Frank did not mind, and he gave them.

Thereby hangs a tale.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

FRIENDS AND FOES.

The Pacific Express drew into Reno on time, and Frank Merriwell was about to bid adieu to the beautiful girl whom he had first met the day before.

"I shall not soon forget this pleasant journey," he said, sincerely.

"Your company has made it very agreeable, Miss--Isban."

Somehow, he stumbled over that name, to which he had taken such a strong dislike.

"Thank you," she said, and he half fancied her lip quivered a bit. "You have been very kind, Mr. Merriwell."

Frank's heart fluttered a bit; the train was drawing into the station; the boy leaned toward her, his eyes shining, a flush in his cheeks.

"And now we are to say good-by, without the least probability of ever seeing each other again," he said, his voice not quite steady.

She turned away for a moment, and then, as she turned back, she swiftly said:

"It is possible we may never see each other again, but you have given me your home address, and you say any letter I may send will be forwarded to you. You may hear from me--some time."

"I may--but if you would promise to write----"

"I have told you I cannot promise that."

"And you will not give me your address?"

"I cannot for reasons known to myself. Do not ask me."

"Miss Isban, I believe you are in trouble--some things you have told me have led me to believe so. If you need a friend at any time, let me hear from you."

She gave him her hand, looked straight into his eyes, and said: