He set his face to banish a natural scowl and advanced with a good-natured smile into the room.
"Hello!" he called.
"It's old Steve!" sang out Sally, and whirling from her chair, she advanced almost at a run to meet him, caught him by both hands, and led him to a table next to that at which she had been sitting.
It was as gracefully done as if she had been welcoming a brother, but Nash, knowing Sally, understood perfectly that it was only a play to impress the eye of Bard.

Nevertheless he was forced to accept it in good part.
"My old pal, Steve Nash," said Sally, "and this is Mr.Anthony Bard." Just the faintest accent fell on the "Mr.," but it made Steve wince.

He rose and shook hands gravely with the tenderfoot.
"I stopped at Butler's place down the street," he said, "and been hearin' a pile about a little play you made a while ago.

It was about time for somebody to call old Butch's bluff." "Bluff ?" cried Sally indignantly.
"Bluff ?" queried Bard, with a slight raising of the eyebrows.
"Sure--bluff.

Butch wasn't any more dangerous than a cat with trimmed claws.