“I’m not sure.  Maybe you had better not come.”

“Oh, I’m coming if you starve me.  Say, Beulah, have you heard about Jess Tighe?”

“What about him?”

“He had a stroke last night.  Doc Spindler thinks he won’t live more than a few hours.”

Beulah mused over that for a few moments without answer.  She had no liking for the man, but it is the way of youth to be shocked at the approach of death.  Yet she knew this would help to clear up the situation.  With the evil influence of Tighe removed, there would be a chance for the park to develop along more wholesome lines.  He had been like a sinister shadow that keeps away the sunlight.

She drew a deep breath.  “I don’t wish him any harm.  But it will be a good thing for all of us when he can’t make us more sorrow and trouble.”

“He never made me any,” Charlton answered.

“Didn’t he?” She looked steadily across at him.  “You can’t tell me he didn’t plan that express robbery, for instance.”

“Meaning that I was in the party that pulled it off?” he asked, flushing.

“I know well enough you were in it—­knew it all along.  It’s the sort of thing you couldn’t keep out of.”

“How about Ned?  Do you reckon he could keep out of it?” She detected rising anger beneath his controlled voice.

“Not with you leading him on.”  Her eyes poured scorn on him.  “And I’m sure he would appreciate your loyalty in telling me he was in it.”

“Why do you jump on me, then?” he demanded sulkily.  “And I didn’t say Ned was in that hold-up—­any more than I admit having been in it myself.  Are you trying to make trouble with me?  Is that it?”

“I don’t care whether I make trouble with you or not.  I’m not going to pretend and make-believe, if that’s what you want.  I don’t have to do it.”

“I see you don’t,” he retorted bluntly.  “I suppose you don’t have to mind your own business either.”

“It is my business when Ned follows you into robbery.”

“Maybe I followed him,” he jeered.

She bit back the tart answer on her tongue.  What was the use of quarreling?  It used to be that they were good friends, but of late they jangled whenever they met.  Ever since the Western Express affair she had held a grudge at him.  Six months ago she had almost promised to marry him.  Now nothing was farther from her thoughts.

But he was still very much of the mind that she should.

“What’s the matter with you, Boots?” he wanted to know roughly.  “You used to have some sense.  You weren’t always flying out at a fellow.  Now there’s no way of pleasing you.”

“I suppose it is odd that I don’t want my friends to be thieves,” she flung out bitterly.

“Don’t use that word if you mean me,” he ordered.

“What word shall I substitute?”

He barely suppressed an oath.  “I know what’s ailing you?  We’re not smooth enough up here for you.  We’re not educated up to your standard.  If I’d been to Cornell, say—­”