danger spoke from every line of it. He made himself tense, prepared for a
similar outbreak from the father, but the latter relaxed as suddenly as
his daughter had become furious.

"There you go," he complained, with a sort of heavy whine. "Always flying
off the handle. Always turning into a wildcat when I try to reason with
you!"

"Reason!" cried the girl. "Reason!"

Joe Pollard grew downcast under her scorn. And Terry, sensing that the
crisis of the argument had passed, watched the other four men in the
room. They had not paid the slightest attention to the debate during its
later phases. And two of them--Slim and huge Phil Marvin--had begun to
roll dice on a folded blanket, the little ivories winking in the light
rapidly until they came to a rest at the farther end of the cloth.
Possibly this family strife was a common thing in the Pollard household.
At any rate, the father now passed off from accusation to abrupt apology.
"You always get me riled at the end of the day, Kate. Damn it! Can't you
never bear with a gent?"

The tigerish alertness passed from Kate Pollard. She was filled all at
once with a winning gentleness and, crossing to her father, took his
heavy hands in hers.

"I reckon I'm a bad one," she accused herself. "I try to get over
tantrums--but--I can't help it! Something--just sort of grabs me by the
throat when I get mad. I--I see red."

"Hush up, honey," said the big man tenderly, and he ran his thick fingers