"R--a--a--t--," but the maiden checked herself with a little scream, for unheard and unperceived came Nemesis.
Bill Vanderhook stood face to face with the importunate Mystic and the ruffled Typewriter.
And the druggist, fresh, rosy and sleek, from the best of barbers and haberdashers, loomed up handsomely by contrast with the now weary, wilted and woebegone Lonnie.
"Imogene Sheets"--and the words cut the air like a whip cracker,--"and I also say that the day and the hour is now. There's to be no more fooling. Business is business. Here's where we change the score. Here's where we decide who's captain of this game. I'm up to all sorts of games, and I'm going to know now which of us rooters is IT. I'm a kicker and a catcher and a shortstop and a batter all in one."
Miss Sheets turned deadly pale as Bill continued: "Now, which is it, the Yogy cave with him in India, or the two-story--basement--brown stone--swell front--modern conveniences and mansard roof with Bill Vanderhook in Kankakee? Speak, girl."
"The--the--man--sar-r-d roof." The words came faintly from the trembling lips of the agitated girl. But the rivals caught the import. Had they been inaudible the rejected lover would have sensed the thought and perceived her answer.
But he made no protest. Philosophers never do. He did not speak. He did not even cast upon her a reproachful look, nor one of anger upon his rival. He only made one little moan with a faint far-offness in the vibration, and then for the second time the unhappy Mystic lay as one dead at the feet of his affinity.
"Well, isn't that fierce?" and Imogene looked on with sweet womanly sympathy while Bill, the now triumphant lover, lifted Lonnie like he was a pigskin and hoisted him into the auto. "Sure thing," said Bill, joyously. "He got it in the neck that time. Come, Petsy, we've got to honk some. We must revive him on the Q. T.
"I'll take him home with me and give him about four fingers with ginger on the side. That'll fetch him."
Imogene looked her admiration of Bill's generosity, and then, gathering her draperies and snuggling down by her future Chauffeur, she sighed a little as she looked upon the inert gentleman on the back seat--saying more to herself than to Bill, "Isn't it a pity he has fits?"