enough word. _Can't_ it come true? Think, with your cat and your Kate and
your trail guide? You called me a 'friend in need.' Can't I be your guide
in need? You'd have to get a guide for the Valley. Why not me?"

"We've only known each other a few days."

"Any other guide would be a stranger. And I guess, Mrs. May, if that's
all, we know each other as well as a good many, who call themselves
friends, get to know one another in years. Do you ever find out anything
about people that you didn't _feel_ the first moment you set eyes on
them?"

"Well--you did save my life!" she conceded. "I can't get away from that."

"Do you mind not getting away from it?"

"No-o."

"Then will you take me for your shuvver and trial guide to those places? I
won't ask you any more, now. You can send me packing afterward, if you
don't think I live up to the character Mr. Morehouse has given you of me."

"Mr. Morehouse! I haven't heard from him since my first day in New York."

"I mean the other Mr. Morehouse, his brother--your banker. Henry wired to
him from New York. And he was writing you, to say, if you hadn't got
anybody who knew the ropes to see you through your excursions, you
couldn't do better than let Hilliard of Lucky Star be your pilot--kind of
courier, you know. Both the Morehouses vouch for me, though it's Henry
who's my friend. All strangers who come to have a look around California