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 present when arriving on a tender mission such as his. A narrow-brimmed derby hat, pressed down hard to the eyebrows, topped off his extraordinary ensemble.

It required both hands to pry Peck loose from his hat, he had fixed it so firmly against the inequalities of the road. He had it off in due time to salute the ladies when they approached him, stepping out from his three pieces of luggage with great elegance, hair so well protected by the tortoise-shell hat that the plaster had not even cracked.

"So this is little old Edith!" he said. "Well, well, well!"

Edith was so embarrassed by this climax in her mail flirtation, together with the presence of Rawlins, whom Mrs. Duke had fairly brought forward by force, and the stage driver, who was hanging out over his seat in eagerness to hear, that she had no words ready for this ardent and familiar courtier. She gave him her hand, grinning ruefully, making the best of it she could.

Peck was not dampened by the reception, if sensible of its coolness, at all, which Rawlins doubted as he watched the forward fellow.

"And this is Missus Duke, natural as life and twice as big," Peck rattled ahead. "Give us a kiss, Aunt Lile."

"Well, I like your gall!" said Mrs. Duke, but not severely, not entirely displeased, although she did not offer her lips to the proposed salutation. She backed away, a capable hand raised to fend against the impetuosity of the man from St. Joe.

Smith Phogenphole, who plainly had possessed himself of the particulars of this romance along the way,