I set out.

"'He raided Jack Mott's last night and has about three hundred bottles
to smash this afternoon. The old fellow is pretty fond of the ice-cold
bottles himself and it is common report that he raids just often enough
to keep himself supplied. So I think I'll keep an eye on him to-day.
He started half an hour ago, south road, and he has Gus Waldron with
him,--his boon companion, and the most notoriously ardent devotee of
the bottles in all dear dry Mount Mark. Lovely day for a drive, isn't
it?'

"'Yes, lovely.' I was very happy. I felt like a princess of old,
riding off into danger, and I felt very warm and friendly toward Kirke.
Remember that he is very good-looking and just bad enough in spite of
his new pillar-hood, to be spell-binding, and--it was lots of fun.
Kirke grabbed my hand and squeezed it chummily, and I smiled at him.

"'You are a glorious girl,' he said.

"I suppose I should have reminded him and myself that he was a
semi-satanic, but I did not. I laughed and rubbed the back of his hand
softly with the tips of my nice pink finger nails, and laughed again.

"Then here came a light wagon,--Matters and Waldron,--going home, and
we realized we had been loitering on the job. Kirke shook his head
impatiently.

"'You distracted me,' he said. 'I forgot my reputation's salvation in
the smile of your eye.'