class="x-ebookmaker-pageno" title="40"/> a glint of humor in her eyes. “I guess you’re jealous, aren’t you, Harvey?”

“Well, say I am,” agreed Harvey. “Never mind that. Is it a good thing for Elsie?”

“Elsie’s a good girl,” replied Mrs. Welcome.

“She sure is, Mrs. Welcome. That’s why I want her to be Mrs. Harvey Spencer.”

Mrs. Welcome opened her eyes wide at this statement and looked kindly at the stout young man before her.

“You mean it, Harvey?” she demanded.

“I’m so much in earnest,” he replied, fumbling in his pocket, “that I’ve got the ring right here.”

He produced a plain gold wedding ring nestling in a white velvet case. Mrs. Welcome uttered a little cry of gladness. She believed in Harvey, who, incidentally, was all he pretended to be.

“O, I know I ain’t much,” went on Harvey, “just a clerk in a small town store, but I’ve got ambitions. Look at all the great men! Where did they begin? At the bottom.”

Harvey paused. Then he looked all about him carefully and, satisfied with this survey, leaned confidentially toward Mrs. Welcome and whispered:

“Say, can you keep a secret, Mrs. Welcome?”

“I guess so,” replied Mrs. Welcome smiling. “Try me, Harvey.”

“All right, I’m going to be a detective,” Harvey announced proudly.

“You are, Harvey?” was the astonished reply.

“Just watch me,” Harvey went on. “I’m taking a correspondence school course. Here are some of my lessons.” He took some closely typewritten sheets of paper from his pocket. “Ever notice how broad I am between the eyes?” he demanded.

“I can’t say that I have,” said Mrs. Welcome.

“Well, I am, and it’s one of the signs, so they say, of the born detective. Listen here a moment.”

He unfolded the bulky pages and read grandly:

“‘Always be observant of even the smallest trifles. A speck of dust may be an important clew to a murder.’”

“Harvey!” cried Mrs. Welcome.

“Don’t be frightened, Mrs. Welcome, just wanted to show you that I mean business.” Harvey paused for a moment and regarded her steadily. Then he pointed his finger at her accusingly as he said: “I knew you were washing before you told me!”

“You did, Harvey?”

“Sure, because you had suds on your apron where you dried your hands.” He drew a deep sigh and threw out his chest. “There,” he said. “Oh, I guess I’m bad at these lessons, eh?”

“You’re a good boy, Harvey,” replied Mrs. Welcome, indulgently.

“Thank you.” He bowed. “Oh, perhaps my future mother-in-law and I aren’t going to get along fine,” he announced to the world in general, exultingly.

The roan colt interrupted this rhapsody by pawing impatiently at the ground. Harvey took his order book from his pocket and stuck his stub of lead pencil in his mouth.

“Well,” he inquired, “how about orders, Mrs. Welcome?”

“We—we—need some flour,” was the hesitating reply.

“A barrel?” suggested Harvey, turning to a fresh page of his order book.

“No—no—no—I—I guess ten pounds, and—I guess that’s about all, Harvey.”

“Now you’ll excuse me if I doubt your word, Mrs. Welcome,” said Harvey, writing down fifty pounds of flour quickly. “Come now, tell me what you do really want.”

“O, what’s the use. We need everything, we—” Mrs. Welcome broke down and began to weep softly as she turned toward the house.

“Now hold on, Mrs. Welcome, don’t break away from me like that!” Harvey followed her and laid his hand gently on her arm. “I hope Mr. Welcome isn’t drinking again. Is he?”

“I’m afraid so, Harvey.” Mrs. Welcome’s frail shoulders quivered as she attempted to restrain her sobs. “Why, Tom hasn’t been home for two days and—and our rent is due—and—”

Harvey Spencer interrupted with a prolonged whistle which seemed to be the best way he could think of expressing sympathy. A light dawned on him.

“That’s why young Harry Boland is here from Chicago, to collect the rent, eh?” he inquired.

Mrs. Welcome nodded assent, “Yes,” she said, “Mr. Boland has been very kind. He has waited two weeks and—and—we can’t pay him.”

“Why not let me—” suggested Harvey, putting his hand into his pocket. Mrs. Welcome checked him with a quick movement. “No, Harvey, please. I don’t want you to do that,” she said. “I wouldn’t feel right about it somehow.”

“Just as you say, Mrs. Welcome.” Harvey was rather diffident and hesitated to press a loan on her. To change the subject he said: “Young Mr. Boland seems taken up with Patience.”

“I hadn’t noticed it,” said Mrs. Welcome, drying her eyes.

“O, we detectives have to keep our eyes open,” acclaimed Harvey with another burst of pride.

But here Michael Grogan interrupted. “Young man,” he called out from the roadway, “are you really taking orders or is this one of your visiting days?” He tied the colt and came into the yard.

“Hello,” said Harvey, “getting tired of waiting?”

“Well, I felt myself growing to that hitching post,” said Grogan, “so I tied that bunch of nerves you have out there and moved before I took root.”

Harvey laughed and turned to Mrs. Welcome. “This is Mr. Michael Grogan, Mrs. Welcome,” he said.

Mrs. Welcome backed away toward the porch, removing her apron. “Good afternoon, sir,” she greeted him. “I hope you are well?”

“Well,” said Grogan, “I was before this young marauder cajoled me into leaving me arm chair on the hotel veranda to go bumping over these roads.”

Mrs. Welcome smiled and extended her hand. “I’m very glad to know you, Mr. Grogan. You mustn’t mind Harvey’s impetuous ways. He’s all right here.” She placed her hand on her heart.

“I’ll go bail he is that if you say so, Mrs. Welcome,” replied Grogan gallantly, “anyhow I’ll take him on your word.”

“Just ready to go, Mr. Grogan, when you called,” put in Harvey. Then he caught Mrs. Welcome by the arm and bustled her into the house, saying: “And I’ll see that you get all of those things, Mrs. Welcome, flour, corn meal, tomatoes, beans, lard—” and in spite of her protestations he closed the door on her with a parting: “Everything on the first delivery tomorrow morning sure.” Then he added to Grogan, who stood smiling with a look of comprehension on his face, “All right. Ready to go.”

“It’s about time,” commented Grogan as they went toward the wagon. “Don’t think I’m too inquisitive if I ask who are these Welcomes anyhow?”

“People who are having a tough time,” replied Harvey, unhitching his colt. “Tom Welcome used to be quite a man. He had that invention I was telling you about, an electric lamp. He was done out of it and went to the booze for consolation.”

“So,” murmured Grogan, half to himself, “Two girls in the family, eh?”

“Yes, that was one of them you met just before we came here.”

“The pretty one?”

“Yes, and they’re the best ever,” added Harvey, antagonized by something he sensed in his companion’s manner.

Grogan turned to him smiling. “There,” he said, “don’t get hot about it. Nobody doubts that, meself least of all. Ain’t I Irish? It’s the first article of every Irishman’s creed to believe that all women, old or young, pretty or otherwise, all of them are just—good.”

Harvey seized the