The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1913-12-05
1911. bv the Bobbs-MerriII Germany.

those precious first ones that would always be the dearest. No, he was to go. Please, he was to go. Please, it was a favor.
 He perceived that she was in earn est, and something told him, moreover, that she was with difficulty holding back her tears-those tears which 1t would be a sacr1Iege for him to share. So, manfdlly, and with a quickening perception, he made no further demur, but turned and left her, looking back once to wave his hand, and to. take one last look.
 But she loved him. That was all his dizzy head could hold, She loved him. Christine Marshall loved him. She was willing to strip. herself of everything to follow him the wide world over. Moth ing could matter now, nothing could hurt him. Chris loved him!
 He had completely forgotten the frock coat person, he of the silk hat and the beard and subdued masterful- ness, who had c1ung to his front wheel with agitated pertinacity hardly three hours before Matt was reminded of his existence by finding him on Mrs. Sattane's front porch, wearily blocking the road to supper. By all rights the stranger should have been excessively annoyed, but on the contrary he was suav1ty itself, rising at Matt's ap- proach and greeting him with formf- dable politeness.
 Might he take the liberty of repeat ing his request to see MT. Broughton in private? Might he, without undue in- sistence, remind MT. BroQghton of the very serious issues at stake and the need-the very great need-of expedi- ton? After three hours of waiting was he not entitled to an immediate inter v1ew-an immediate interview in pri- vate? No, 1t need not be long In some aspects it was a very simple affair-a proposal on the part of certain prin- cipals, an acceptance-eri was to be hoped, on MT. Broughton's.
 Apologizing for having no better place to offer, Matt led the stranger upstairs to his bedroom, where, after lighting the single gas jet, he offered him a chair and himself took a seat on the bed.
 ''Now, what's your name?'' asked Matt, lighting his pipe and throwing out his long legs.
 The stranger somewhat stammering- ly replied that he might be called MT. Kay, though whether he meant Kay or merely the letter K was left ob- scure.
 'FWell, MT. Kay" continued Matt, "lets get one thing understood right off. I am not Kanaka king, and T. haven't any islands, or money, or sub Jects, or fleets. or pearling beds or any thing. If you have the least miscon- ception of that kind about me the soon CT you get rid of 1t the better
 ''You refer doubtless to those news paper accounts?'' inquired the stranger.
 Matt nodded.
 'EYes, all that rot,'' he said.
 ''I'm familiar with then,' observed the stranger drawing up close to the bed. Perhaps I'm also more familiar with the actual facts than you will credit. Circumstances have forced me to acquaint myself with them-to sep arate the wheat from the chaf, from a vast deal of chaff,'' he added un- bendingly. "Well, well, now to busi- ness" With that he produced from his pocket a small, fiat object wrapped in tissue paper. Divesting it of it's covering, he passed little ivory minia- ture to Matt. "Do you happen to rec ognize that person?' he asked
 Matt took it with surprise, for it was rimmed with diamonds and backed with gold like an unwieldy brooch with a surprise that changed to con sternation as he behe1d the unmistaka- bIe face of John Mort. It was 8 face younger by twenty years than the John Mort he had known, smoother and more rounded and with the hair altogether black; a fiattering picture, much too pink and prettifed and youthfuI1y handsome for even the orig inal at the age it represented him. But it was John Mort just the same. He could have picked it out of room full of miniatures, whole gallery John Mort, staring up at him from circIet of diamonds, with an imperious air that somehow had been caught while all the rest was falsifed by the Obsequious artist.
 ChiIIs ran down Matt's back. It was as though he were detected in a crime. He was thankful for the poor light that must have screened his expression of dismay, for all Mort's warnings were now upon him in a torrent-and his own promises, his own pledged word. Here was what John Mort had feared-Hthe wolves," he had called them-in voice he had lowered even there, apprehensive still on that lost reef. in those lost and lonely seas The heavy lidded eyes took on new and ominous significance as Matt felt