"Very well; for the sake of the argument, I do believe you, Mr. Calendar."

"Hell!" exploded the elder man in an undertone. Then swiftly, stammering
in his haste: "I can't let Dorothy accompany me to the door," he declared.
"She--I--I throw myself upon your mercy!"

"What--again?"

"The truth--the truth is, if you will have it, that I am in danger of
arrest the moment I leave here. If my daughter is with me, she will have to
endure the shame and humiliation--"

"Then why place her in such a position?" Kirkwood demanded sharply.

Calendar's eyes burned, incandescent with resentment. Offended, he offered
to rise and go, but changed his mind and sat tight in hope.

"I beg of you, sir--"

"One moment, Mr. Calendar."

Abruptly Kirkwood's weathercock humor shifted--amusement yielding to
intrigued interest. After all, why not oblige the fellow? What did anything
matter, now? What harm could visit him if he yielded to this corpulent
adventurer's insistence? Both from experience and observation he knew this
for a world plentifully peopled by soldiers of fortune, contrivers of
snares and pitfalls for the feet of the unwary. On the other hand, it is
axiomatic that a penniless man is perfectly safe anywhere. Besides, there
was the girl to be considered.