with a sweeping gesture. Not to be outdone in courtesy, I rose and made him a mocking bow.
"Accept these tokens of my esteem, I prithee."
"I do, Sir Knight, and go to hell," I replied. "If you're through with this horticultural business what d'you say we get to the fishing? That's what we started out for—trout, not yellow bellies."
He held up his hand in protest.
"There is no element of romance in your sordid make-up. You're as flat in the head as the fish you catch. Take a look at that old house. What stories it might tell! What ghosts may have prowled about in its sombre interior! I see a broken pane in the quaint side window of the door. Adventure calls. Watch me."
The nut! He noiselessly moved toward the door. Then he gingerly thrust his hand through the jagged opening in the side window and felt for the key. I saw by the smile on his face that he had found it. He removed his hand, turned the outside knob—and the door opened. He peered around, and then went inside.
It wasn't premonition or an unknown feeling of anything that prompted me to leap over the side of that car and beat it for the inside of that house. It was a glimpse of one corking fine mantle that I caught through the open door. Old mantles, newel-posts and corner china-closets exert an influence over my artistic soul that brooks no laziness. I'll walk ten miles through a bog any day to get a peep at something rare and fine in old woodwork. This one called to me, and I went.
I had on rubber-soled shoes, as did my companion, and hence made little noise. Hunky was nowhere in sight, but there was a side door beyond the fire-place and I knew he must be prowling about on the other side of it.
"Say, Hunky, did you see this old mantle?" I called, moving toward the door.
I went through it—and found myself looking at two most unexpected things—Hunky, with his hands raised above his head, and a nice, blue-black automatic held in the unwavering hand of an old woman who was sitting in a chair.
"YOU, too!" she snapped at me. "Up with 'em! Now what the hell are you two crooks breaking into an old woman’s home for?"
"Good heavens, ma'am," stammered Hunky. "We—that is—I thought it was a deserted farm house. No intention of annoying anybody. We are simply touring—just a lark to break in here."
"'Lark', hey?" said the old woman, a most unpleasant glare in her eyes. "D'you call it a lark to bust into my home and maybe rob me? How do I know you mightn't have murdered me?"
"I assure you, madame," I interrupted, "my friend here had no intention of doing the slightest harm. It was, as he says, a lark—just to show off to me. I followed him because I was interested in the old woodwork—and not your modern hardware," I added.
She lowered the gun slowly.
"Hum. Well, you don't look like desperate characters now I take a good look at you. I was frightened, I guess."
"Sorry," said Hunky. "No intention of frightening anybody, and it was silly of me to break in. I apologize."
"Well, I guess that's all right. I'll let you go. But don't come around here scarin' me again," replied the evil looking old woman. "Now you get!"
We got. Hunky stepped on the gas and we traveled. I hope I am not a saffron member of the coward league, but just the same I own there are many views I prefer infinitely more than the muzzle of a dog that both barks and bites. Hunky was not
