mischievously, “you ought to alter your habits. The arachnids are spiders. Anyone who sees winged spiders is safer fishing than on a butterfly hunt. Good-bye, Dr. Colton.” CHAPTER SEVEN THE WONDERFUL WHALLEY THUS cruelly disabused of his hopes, Dick Colton went fishing. But his heart was not in the sport. Absentmindedly he made up a cast of flies and spent an hour of fruitless whipping before it dawned upon him that he had been using a scarlet ibis and a white miller in a blaze of direct sunshine. Having changed to a carefully prepared leader of grey and black hackles, he had better luck; but for the first time in his life successful angling had lost its savour. Laying aside his rod, he climbed a hillock to look over the landscape. It was a blank. Nowhere in the range of vision could he discern a butterfly net. The rock where he had spread his coat suggested a seat. He sat down there, and for one solid hour proved with irrefutable logic that that which was, couldn’t possibly be so, because he had known Dolly Ravenden only two days. Having attained this satisfactory conclusion, he took out the twenty-dollar bill and regarded it with miserly fervour. Haynes, coming over the hill, caused a hasty withdrawal of currency. T The reporter seemed tired and worried. In answer to the physician’s inquiry whether anything new had developed, he shook his head. Colton dismissed that subject, and with his accustomed straightforwardness went on to another, upon which he had been deliberating with an uneasy mind. “Mr. Haynes,” he said, “I want to speak to you on rather a difficult subject.” The reporter looked at him keenly. “Most difficult subjects are better let alone,” he said shortly. “In fairness to you I can’t let this one alone. It concerns Miss Johnston.” “Whom you have known since Monday, I believe.” Haynes’ face was disagreeable. “Pardon me,” said the other. “My interest is in my brother.” “I can’t pretend to share it,” returned Haynes. “His name is Everard Colton. Do you know him?”
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