I never was madder in my life. I took two steps toward him with my fists doubled up.

"You whelp!" says I-and then I stopped short. The Lentz girl herself was walkin' in at the front door.

"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin' out her hand. She paid no more attention to 'Dolph than if he'd been a graven image. "Good mornin'," says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"

I was past carin' about the weather.

"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come in. I've got somethin' to tell you. I've got to beg your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault or Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me had an agreement not to go nigh Parkinson or try to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown to me, that agreement has been broke."

She stared at me, too astonished to speak.

"It's been broke," says I. "That-that critter there," pointin' to 'Dolph, "has been sneakin-"

'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder, I cal'late he thought I'd praise him for his doin's; and when he found I wouldn't, but was goin' to give the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler.

"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't broke no agreement, neither. You and Mr. Jacobs agreed-but I never. I see Parkinson on my own hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be goin' to give you the contract."

[Ill.u.s.tration: _'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled._]

There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. Her pretty face went white. That contract meant all creation to her; but she stood up to the news like a major. She was plucky, that girl!

"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given you the contract? I-I congratulate you, Cap'n Snow."

"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract ain't been given yet, though this pup says it's goin' to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what was goin' on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable and decent, and so's Jacobs; and we don't take underhanded advantages."

'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter.

"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know! How about Jacobs' takin' her to ride and callin' on her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What did he do that for? You know as well as I do. 'Twas so's to keep a watch on her, and not let Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin'

Eureka screens. You know it!"

My own face grew red now, I cal'late.

"You-you-" I begun. "You miserable liar-"

"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you with my own ears. He said all he was beauin' her round for was just that. If that ain't a underhanded trick then I don't know what is."

I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get my talkin' machinery to runnin', the Lentz girl herself spoke.

"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she.

I was set back forty fathom.

"Well, miss," says I, "I-I-"

"Is that true?" says she.

I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead.

"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you. Jim Henry-Mr. Jacobs, I mean-did say somethin' like that; but-but-Well, you wanted to be treated like a salesman, and-er-Mr. Jacobs would have kept his eye on a man, you know; and so-and so-"

I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever I cruised in. All I could do was mop away with the handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And she-well, the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back to her cheeks.

And how her brown eyes did flash!

"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh shivered. "I-see!"

"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of, I will admit; but-"

"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually got the contract yet?"

"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned fo'mast hand of mine says. For what he's done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr.

Jacobs, I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, anyhow. For the rest-Well, all's fair in love and war, they say-and there's precious little love in business."

She looked at me, with a queer little smile about the corners of her lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin', by a consider'ble sight.

"Isn't there?" she says. "I-I wonder. Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might tell Mr. Jacobs not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet."

Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had a real enjoyable time.

I told 'Dolph Cahoon just what I thought of him-that took four of the minutes; durin' the other one I fired him and run him out of the office by the scruff of the neck.

Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council, and that ended by our decidin' not to tell Jim Henry that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so friendly with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make him feel bad.

Besides, the contract was as good as got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and 'twa'n't likely he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come back I told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good and sa.s.sy, and he agreed I'd done just right.

When I said good night to him he was chipper as could be; but next day he was blue as a whetstone-and the blueness seemed to strike in, so to speak. He didn't take any interest in anything-moped round, glum and ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk at all. If I mentioned the screen contract he shut up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an opinion about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one, though.

Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he:

"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal'latin'

to get married again? I see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That female screen drummer-that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She's a daisy, ain't she! I don't blame him much for takin' a shine to her."

Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' what I did, I was a little surprised.

"Jim," says I, "that contract-"

"D-n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us.

I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches closed.

When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I found a letter with the West Ostable Hotel's name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew what was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of our bid!" But my figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few words, but they was enough. After considerin' the matter careful, he wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the Eureka folks the contract.

"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll-be-blessed!"

Jim Henry was settin' at his desk-we was all alone in the store-and he looked up.

"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he.

I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute without speakin'. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and started to go away.

"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails you? Ain't you goin' to say nothin' at all?"