“’To be sure it did.  And Matters put him in jail and made a great fuss getting ready for his trial.  I had a friend at court and he tipped me off that Matters was going to disgrace the Methodist Church in general and the Connors in particular by calling me in as a witness, making me tell where I bought sundry bottles known to have been in my possession.  Picture it to yourself, sweet Connie,—­my white-haired mother, my sad-eyed father, the condemning deacons, the sneering Sunday-school teachers, the prim-lipped Epworth Leaguers,—­it could not be.  I left town.  Matters left also,—­coming my way.  For two days we have been at it, hot foot, cold foot.  We have covered most of southeastern Iowa in forty-eight hours.  He has the papers to serve on me, but he’s got to go some yet.’

“Kirke stood up and peered about among the trunks.  All serene.

“‘I am nearly starved,’ he said plaintively.  ’Do you suppose we could sneak into some quiet joint and grab a ham sandwich and a cup of coffee?’

“I was willing to risk it, so we sashayed across the Street, I swirling my skirts as much as possible to help conceal unlucky Kirke.

“But alas!  Kirke had taken just one ravenous gulp at his sandwich when he stopped abruptly, leaning forward, his coffee cup upraised.  I followed his wide-eyed stare.  There outside the window stood Matters, grinning diabolically.  He pushed open the door, Kirke leaped across the counter and vaulted through the side window, crashing the screen.  Matters dashed around the house in hot pursuit, and I—­well, consider that I was a reporter, seeking a scoop.  They did not beat me by six inches.  Only I wish I had dropped the sandwich.  I must have looked funny.

“Kirke flashed behind a shed, Matters after him, I after Matters.  Kirke zigzagged across a lawn dodging from tree to tree,—­Matters and I. Kirke turned into an alley,—­Matters and I. Woe to the erring son of a minister!  It was a blind alley.  It ended in a garage and the garage was locked.

“Matters pulled out a revolver and yelled, ’Now stop, you fool; stop, Kirke!’ Kirke looked back; I think he was just ready to shin up the lightning rod but he saw the revolver and stopped.  Matters walked up, laughing, and handed him a paper.  Kirke shoved it in his pocket.  I clasped my sandwich in both hands and looked at them tragically,—­sob element.  Then Matters turned away and said, ’See you later, Kirke.  I congratulate the county on securing your services.  Just the kind of witness we like, nice, respectable, good family, and all.  Makes it size up big, you know.  Be sure and invite your friends.’

“For a second I thought Kirke would strike him.  I shook the sandwich at him warningly and he answered with a wave of his own,—­yes, he had his sandwich, too.  Then he said in a low voice, ’All right, Matters.  But you call me in that trial and I’ll get you.’

“‘Oh, oh, Sonny, you must not threaten an officer of the law,’ said Matters, in a hateful, chiding voice.  He turned and sauntered away.  Kirke and I watched him silently until he was out of sight.  Then we turned to each other sympathetically.