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 of that sort. And if I’d go along he could squeeze the price into the expense account.

“Well, I’d been holding a napkin over my arm at Chubb’s about long enough then, so I wired High Jack ‘Yes’; and he sent me a ticket, and I met him in Washington, and he had a lot of news to tell me. First of all, was that Florence Blue Feather had suddenly disappeared from her home and environments.

“‘Run away?’ I asked.

“‘Vanished,’ says High Jack. ‘Disappeared like your shadow when the sun goes under a cloud. She was seen on the street, and then she turned a corner and nobody ever seen her afterward. The whole community turned out to look for her, but we never found a clew.’

“‘That’s bad—that’s bad,’ says I. ‘She was a mighty nice girl, and as smart as you find ’em.’

“High Jack seemed to take it hard. I guess he must have esteemed Miss Blue Feather quite highly. I could see that he’d referred the matter to the whiskey-jug. That was his weak point—and many another man’s. I’ve noticed that when a man loses a girl he generally takes to drink either just before or just after it happens.

“From Washington we railroaded it to New Rh