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“Are you sure?” she cried, unable to believe her ears.

“Absolutely. Here is the inventory and here are the figures to corroborate everything I say.”

“But THEY had figures, too,” she cried in perplexity.

“Certainly. Figures are wonderful things. I only ask you to defer this plan to compromise until we are able to thoroughly convince you that I am not misrepresenting the facts to you.”

“Oh, if I could only believe you!”

“I’d toss the documents down to you if I were not afraid they’d join my card. That is a terribly ravenous beast. Surely you can coax him out of the barn,” he added eagerly.

“I can try, but persuasion is difficult with a bulldog, you know,” she said doubtfully. “It is much easier to persuade a man,” she smiled.

“I trust you won’t try to persuade me to come down,” he said in alarm.

“Mr. Austin is a brute to treat you in this manner,” she cried indignantly.

“I wouldn’t treat a dog as he is treating me.”

“Oh, I am sure you couldn’t,” she cried in perfect sincerity. “Swallow doesn’t like me, but I’ll try to get him away. You can’t stay up there all night.”

“By Jove!” he exclaimed sharply.

“What is it?” she asked quickly.

“I had forgotten an engagement in Chicago for to-night. Box party at the comic opera,” he said, looking nervously at his watch.

“It would be too bad if you missed it,” she said sweetly. “You’d be much more comfortable in a box.”

“You are consoling at least. Are you going to coax him off?”

“In behalf of the box party, I’ll try. Come, Swallow. There’s a nice doggie!”

Crosby watched the proceedings with deepest interest and concern and not a little admiration. But not only did Swallow refuse to abdicate but he seemed to take decided exceptions to the feminine method of appeal. He evidently did not like to be called “doggie,” “pet,” “dearie,” and all such.

“He won’t come,” she cried plaintively.

“I have it!” he exclaimed, his face brightening. “Will you hand me that three-tined pitchfork over there? With that in my hands I’ll make Swallow see–Look out! For heaven’s sake, don’t go near him! He’ll kill you.” She had taken two or three steps toward the dog, her hand extended pleadingly, only to be met by an ominous growl, a fine display of teeth, and a bristling back. As if paralyzed, she halted at the foot of the ladder, terror suddenly taking possession of her.

“Can you get the pitchfork?”

“I am afraid to move,” she moaned. “He is horrible–horrible!”

“I’ll come down, Mrs. Delancy, and hang the consequences,” Crosby cried, and was suiting the action to the word when she cried out in remonstrance.

“Don’t come down–don’t! He’ll kill you. I forbid you to come down, Mr. Crosby. Look at him! Oh, he’s coming toward me! Don’t come down!” she shrieked. “I’ll come up!”

Grasping her skirts with one hand she started frantically up the ladder, her terrified eyes looking into the face of the man above. There was a vicious snarl from the dog, a savage lunge, and then something closed over her arm like a vice. She felt herself being jerked upward and a second later she was on the beam beside the flushed young man whose strong hand and not the dog’s jaws had reached her first. He was obliged to support her for a few minutes with one of his emphatic arms, so near was she to fainting.

“Oh,” she gasped at last, looking into his eyes questioningly. “Did he bite me? I was not sure, you know. He gave such an awful leap for me. How did you do it?”

“A simple twist of the wrist, as the prestidigitators say. You had a close call, my dear Mrs. Delancy.” He was a-quiver with new sensations that were sending his spirits sky high. After all it was not turning out so badly.

“He would have dragged me down had it not been for you. And I might have been torn to pieces,” she shuddered, glancing down at the now infuriated dog.