persisted Mac. "Besides, I'm in for an awful row with the governor. You
may see my scalp fly past the window in less than ten minutes."

"What's the row about?"

"Same old thing. I am the original devil for getting found out." For
the space of a minute he gloomily contemplated a spot in the carpet;
then he shrugged his shoulders, rammed his hands in his pockets, and
began to whistle.

"The governor'll fork out," he said. "He always does. Say, Nance, you
haven't said a word about my moustache."

"Let's see it," said Nance in giggling derision. "Looks like a baby's
eyebrow. Does it wash off?"

A step in the hall sent them flying in opposite directions, Nance back to
her desk, and Mac into the inner office, where his father found him a
moment later, apparently absorbed in a pamphlet on factory inspection.

When Nance started home at six o'clock, she found Dan waiting at his old
post beside the gas-pipe.

"It's like old times," he said happily, as he piloted her through the
out-pouring throng. "I remember the first night we walked home together.
You weren't much more than a kid. You had on a red cap with a tassel to
it. Three years ago the tenth of last May. Wouldn't think it, would you?"

"Think what?" she asked absently.