It vos der end uf him."

The doctor was right. To the end Murillo protected his accomplice, claiming he had broken into the house by himself, with the intention of carrying Juanita off.

And Gregory Carker said nothing.

The following day, however, Carker found an opportunity to speak privately, as he supposed, with Mrs. Morton. He followed her from the house and stopped her at a point where there was little likelihood that they would be seen.

"You'll take the next train out of Bloomfield," he said. "I thought you might have good sense enough to take the first one, but you don't seem inclined to go without being invited."

"Oh, Greg----"

He put up his hand.

"Stop where you are," he said. "Not a word from you. You let that sneak into the house last night. You're responsible for the whole miserable tragedy."

"But you will not expose me--you will not tell them?"

"No, I'll say nothing about it--in case you take the next train."

"You despise me! I see it in your face!"

"You're right, I do. I despise you most thoroughly, and I pray it may never be my misfortune to see your face again."

"Oh, that girl--that wretched black-eyed----"

"And you may stop there," interrupted Carker. "You refer to Juanita. I'm going to marry her."

"I suppose you are. I'd like to strangle her!"

"You'll not be given an opportunity. I'm going to ask Mr. Merriwell to have a rig hitched up right away. It will take you to the station. Make any excuses you choose or no excuses whatever--but you're going. Better hurry back to the house now and pack up. Go on!"

She saw words were useless, and, therefore, she turned and hurried away toward the house.

Carker stood there, his right elbow in his left palm, his chin resting on his hand. He heard no sound and was unaware of any one's presence until a hand touched his arm.

With a start, he found himself face to face with Juanita. There was a strange rapturous light in the girl's eyes.

"I asked for the proof," she whispered. "You gif eet to me when you deed not know I was there behind the shrubberee. I hear you tell her she must go. I hear you tell her that you--that you--that you----"

"That I'm going to marry you," said Carker, taking both her hands in his. "I mean it, Juanita. I've decided on my course in the future. If I'll quit lecturing on socialism and suppress my thoughts and theories in that line, Carker, senior, will give me a lift in the world. He'll change his will if he becomes satisfied that I've reformed. I'm a socialist, Juanita, and I shall always remain a socialist. But, perhaps, I've been a little too rabid--perhaps I've been a little too rank.

Socialism is all right, but home is a great deal better. I'm going to have a home of my own, and I'm going to have you for the chief director of that home. I think I'll be satisfied to settle down with you there to anchor me. I'm going to kiss you now, Juanita."

"Oh, Gregoree----" she murmured.

His lips smothered the remainder of the protest.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE EDUCATED HORSE.

Honk! honk! honk!

Frank glanced over his shoulder.

"Automobile coming, Bart," he said. "She's raising a cloud of dust.

Better give her plenty of room."

Frank and Bart were out for a morning horseback ride through the country. After a dash of an hour or more, they had turned back and were now in sight of Farnham Hall and Merry Home.

Bart's mount began to dance and lunge.

"Whoa, Pansy--whoa, lady," he said soothingly. "She doesn't fancy buzz wagons a great deal, Merry."

"She never did," replied Frank, "but she'll get used to them. They're growing thicker every day. I've ordered one myself."

"Honk! honk! honk!" sounded the automobile horn close behind them.

With a purring of the valves, a soft panting from the exhaust, and a whir of wheels, a huge red machine flew past them in a cloud of dust.

"Forty miles an hour," said Hodge, blinking his eyes and turning his cap brim down to the cloud of dust. "That's some speed for these roads, Merry."

"And I'll guarantee they'll go through town like that," returned Frank.

"Whew! Some of these machines ought to have a sprinkler attachment."

"They're stopping," said Bart. "By George! they're turning into your place. Did you know any one in the car?"

"Got only a glimpse of them, and they seemed to be strangers to me."

"That's a flyer they have. What make is it, do you know?"

"It's a French machine, I believe. It looks to me like a Mercedes."

"Are you going to have an imported machine, Frank?"

"Oh, no. I'm satisfied with the best American makes. A good American machine is better adapted for our roads than any of the crack foreigners."

"How do you make that out?"

"It's simple enough. In France they have grand roads everywhere. Their machines are made for such roads, and on such roads they can fairly fly.

In this country we have a few fairly good roads, but the majority of our highways are wretchedly bad. The American makers have built machines adapted for such roads, and on these roads our better-made motor cars are superior to anything we can bring across the water."

"But I understand that most of the American machines are fakes. I've been told they are far from perfect."

Frank laughed.