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“No, I don’t know her,” said Mr. Fox, stiffly.

“Well,” continued Miss Mix, “her mother lives here in Palo Alto, and Mollie came home for September. Tony was just what she was looking for. A secret marriage, a sensational divorce, and alimony–Mollie asks nothing more of Fate! She made him her slave.”

“Lord!” said Anthony.

“Every one was talking about it,” continued Miss Mix; “but I never dreamed of interfering until Thanksgiving, when the Temples planned a week’s house-party in Santa Cruz, and asked Tony to go. That would have settled it; so I managed to see Tony, and from that day on I may say I never let go of him. I took him about, I accompanied him when he sang–just big-sistered him generally! I’m thirty-two, you know, and I never dreamed he would–but he DID. New Year’s night, Mr. Fox. Well, then I either had to say no, and let him go again, or say yes, and hold him. So I said yes. I couldn’t stop him from planning, and I never dreamed he’d write you! Now, do you begin to see?”

“I see,” said Anthony, huskily.

He cleared his throat.

“Meanwhile,” pursued Miss Mix, glowing delightedly in the sympathy of her listener, “I introduced him to the Rogerses and the Peppers, and lots of jolly people, who are doing him a world of good. He goes about–he’s developing. And now, just as I began to hope that the time had come when we could quietly break off our engagement, here YOU are, to make him feel in honor bound to stick to it!”

“Well, I am–” Anthony left it unfinished. “What can I do?” he asked meekly.

“We’ll find a plan somehow,” said Miss Mix, approvingly. “But you must be got out first!”

“And meanwhile,” said Anthony, awkwardly, “I don’t really know how to thank you–“

“Oh, nonsense!” she said lightly. “You forget how fond I am of him! Now, I’ll go up to the house, and–” Her confident voice faltered, and Anthony was astonished to see a look of dismay cross her face. “Oh, my goodness gracious heavenly day!” she ejaculated softly. “Whatever shall we do now? Now we never can get you out!”

“Then I’ll stay in,” laughed Anthony, philosophically.

Miss Mix echoed his laugh nervously. She glanced across the yard.

“It’s that disgusting newspaper contest!” she said.

“That WHAT?”

“Please don’t shout!” she begged, sitting down on her box again, “I’ll explain. You see, the San Francisco CALL, one of the big city dailies, has offered the job of being its local press representative to the college man who brings in the best newspaper story between now and the first of May–that’s less than ten days. Of course, all the boys have gone crazy over it. It’s a job that a boy could easily hold down with his regular class work, and it might lead to a permanent position on the paper’s staff after graduation. About ten boys are working furiously for it, and all their friends are working for them. Tony’s helping Jerry Billings, and Jerry has already taken in a couple of good stories, and has a good chance. This, of course, would land it!”

“What would?”

“Why, THIS!” She was laughing again. “Can’t you see? Think of the head-lines! Even your New York papers would play it up. Think of the chance to get funny! ‘Old Fox in a Trap!’ ‘Goes to Bed with the Chickens!’ ‘Iron King Plays Chanticleer!'”

“Thunder!” said Anthony, uncomfortably.

“There’d be no end of it, for you or me,” said Miss Mix. “I know this town.”

“Yes, you’re right!” agreed Anthony. “The idea is for me to sit here until after the first of May, eh?” he continued uncertainly.

Her eyes danced.

“Oh, we MAY think of some other way!”

“Tony’s not to be trusted, you think?”

“No-o! I wouldn’t dare. He’s simply mad to have Jerry win. He’d let it out involuntarily.”

“The maid can go for a plumber?”

“Statia? She’s working for Joe Bates. And both the boys in the plumber’s shop are in college, anyway.”