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 this delectable temptation. "The fact is, old man—just between you and me—I'm going to be married!"

"You are! To"

"To Yvonne, of course." Loving the very words, he said them over. "I'm going to marry Yvonne Mountford. Ha! What do you think of that, Bones?"

Bones beamed, his face clearing in a twinkling. "Great!" he cried. "Gee, yes, that's the honey!" He leaned to pump Jock's hand and to give him a stunning blow on the back. "Congratulations! Say, I'm damn glad"

"Thanks," Jock said. Rather shortly, because an unaccountable fullness was constricting his throat momentarily, militating against composure. Old Bones. . . good old boy, best pal in the world. . ..

"—sore because I wasn't here when she came," Bones was rattling on. "Wanted to see her, the worst way. They tell me she's right there, and over. Say, how's to loosen up and release a little dope? You've been silent as the Sphinx, you big bum! How long's this been simmering? And when's the great event coming off? I'll have to get me a new drinking suit, and begin hoarding hootch for a fit celebration!"

"You've got plenty of time," grinned Jock. "We aren't going to be married for a—for quite awhile." He had almost said, "For a year." That had been Yvonne's pronouncement. "We'll wait at least a year, my dear." And when he had demurred, frenziedly, she had added, "You'll know me better in a year. I want to be very, very sure that you are sure". . . Absurd! As though he wasn't sure now. . . as though a year of seeing her could have any effect whatever except to cause his love for her to strengthen!

"At least," he amended aloud, "she says it won't