“Then the first time you get outside the limits of this town you will have to play my way—­a man’s way!”

“I hope not, Pete!”

“Naturally you hope so, for you know I will get you, you—­”

“Careful!” Jack interrupted.  “You’d better leave that out until we are both armed.  Or, if you will not, why, we both have weapons that nature gave us.  Do you prefer that way?” and Jack’s weight had shifted to the ball of his foot.

Plainly this was not to Pete’s taste.

“I don’t want to bruise you.  I mean to make a clean hole through you!” he answered.

“That is both courteous and merciful; and you are very insistent, Leddy,” Jack returned, and walked on.

“Just as sweet as honey, just as cool as ice, and just as sunny as June!” whispered Bob Worther to the man next him.

Again Jack was before the opening in the Ewold hedge, with its glimpse of the spacious living-room.  The big ivory paper-cutter lay in its accustomed place on the broad top of the Florentine table.  In line with it on the wall was a photograph of Abbey’s mural in the Pennsylvania capitol and through the open window a photograph of a Puvis de Chavannes was visible.  Evidently the Doge had already hung some of the reproductions of masterpieces which he had brought from New York.  But no one was on the porch or in the living-room; the house was silent.  As Jack started across the cement bridge he was halted by a laugh from his companions.  He found that P.D. was taking no risks of losing his master again; he was going right on into the Doge’s, too.  Jim took charge of him, receiving in return a glance from the pony that positively reeked of malice.

Again Jack was on his way around the Doge’s bungalow on the journey he had made so many times in the growing ardor of the love that had mastered his senses.  The quiet of the garden seemed a part of the pervasive stillness that stretched away to the pass from the broad path of the palms under the blazonry of the sun.  As he proceeded he heard the crunching of gravel under a heavy tread.  The Doge was pacing back and forth in the cross path, fighting despair with the forced vigor of his steps, while Mary was seated watching him.  As the Doge wheeled to face Jack at the sound of his approach, it was not in surprise, but rather in preparedness for the expected appearance of another character in a drama.  This was also Mary’s attitude.  They had heard of his coming and they received his call with a trace of fatalistic curiosity.  The Doge suddenly dropped on a bench, as if overcome by the weariness and depression of spirits that he had been defying; but there was something unyielding and indomitable in Mary’s aspect.

“Well, Sir Chaps, welcome!” said the Doge.  “We still have a seat in the shade for you.  Will you sit down?”

But Jack remained standing, as if what he had to say would be soon said.

“I have come back and come for good,” he began.  “Yes, I have come back to take all the blue ribbons at ranching,” he added, with a touch of garden nonsense that came like a second thought to soften the abruptness of his announcement.