To make this definite she sat upon the bole of a felled oak beside the path while Patricia jiggled up and down in eloquent objection to the untimely halt.

Dave read the scene and caressed his thick moustache with practiced thumb and finger.

His glance was sympathetic.
"The poor old maid!" he murmured.

"All that Whipple money, and she has to be just a small-towner! Say, I bet no one has ever kissed that old girl since her mother died! None of these small-town hicks would ever have the nerve to.

Yes, sir; any one's got a right to be sorry for that dame.