promised himself.

And then he caught sight of a familiar pair of gray eyes smiling
over the white veil of an odalisque. Jinny Jeffries was wearing one
of the many costumes there that passed for Oriental, a glittering
assemblage of Turkish trousers and Circassian veils, silver shawls
and necklaces and wide bracelets banding bare arms.

As an effect it was distinctly successful.

"Ten thousand dinars could not pay for the chicken she has eaten,"
uttered Ryder appreciatively in the language of the old slave
market, and stepped promptly ahead of a stout Pantalon.

"Jack! You did come!" There was a note in the girl's voice as if she
had disbelieved in her good fortune. "Oh, and beautiful as Roderick
Dhu! Didn't I tell you that you could find something in that shop?"
she declared in triumph.

"Do you imagine that this came out of a costumer's?" Ryder swung her
swiftly out in the fox trot before the crowd invaded the floor. "If
Andy McLean could hear you! Why this, this is the real thing, the
Scots-wha-hae-wi'-Wallace-bled stuff."

"Who is Andy McLean?"

"Andrew is Scotch, Single, and Skeptical. He is a great pal of mine
and also an official of the Agricultural Bank which is by way of
being a Government institution. These are the togs of his Hieland
Grandsire--"