As Lorna Percy, Lem, and Gay Loring sat on the porch a jaunty straw hat came into view above the terrace, and, as it reached the gate, proved to be on the head of a man as jaunty as the hat. The man paused at the gate to look up the street.

“There's Freeman,” said Lorna. “He's home early.”

“Not so very. It is getting toward supper-time.”

Gay answered. “I'd better be getting home to help mother set the table.”

“Poor excuse!” teased Lorna. “But run along if you want to have a nice little session at the gate all by your lonies. Gay—”

“Yes?”

“I do think Freeman is in love with you.”

Gay colored.

“Why?” she asked.

“The way he acts, and everything. Don't you think so yourself?”

“Well—he's persistent enough. He's never said anything outright. Not anything much. I don't know whether he loves me or just wants to see how far he can go, Lorna.”

Lorna was silent for a moment.

“I'd say I was glad if he was n't such a—you know, Gay. Flashy. Don't you think he is rather flashy? Not very heavy. He's fast, too. I'd rather have you like Carter Bruce.”

“For all I know he is a thousand miles from thinking anything serious,” Gay answered. “I'm simply not going to take him seriously until he is serious.”

“How old do you suppose he really is?”

“Twenty-five. Don't you think so?”

“I doubt it, Gay. He may be. It is hard to judge. He's queer. I don't like him. He is queer sometimes. He—”

“Sh!” said Gay, indicating Lem, who was listening with all his ears.

“I forgot. You're such a quiet little boy,” she said to Lem. “Are you a little pitcher with big ears?”

“Yes'm,” said Lem. “I guess so.”

“What I meant,” said Lorna to Gay, “was L-i-q-u-o-r. Have you suspected it?”

“Ellicker,” said Lem. “What's that mean?”

“Hush!” said Lorna. “He's coming in.” Freeman Todder, the young man of whom they were speaking, climbed the terrace steps slowly. He carried a cane, which was an unusual bit of dandyism in Riverbank, and he was what Miss Redding called “dressy.” Very few young fellows in Riverbank were “dressy” and almost none of the older men. Trousers seldom or never were creased on week days, for the “Sunday suit” held sway on the Sabbath and at parties and dances. To be well dressed on a week day was almost a sign of ungodliness, because the few who were well dressed were certainly apt to be ungodly. They were thought to be interested in poker, woman, and wine.

Freeman Todder, when he arrived in Riverbank, had almost immediately affiliated himself with the dozen “dressy” young fellows. He was seen in Alberson's drug store, in the Smokeorium, in front of Weltschaffel's clothing store, and wherever the young bucks gathered. It was said that his first labors in Riverbank were in the nature of holding a handful of playing cards in Alberson's back room, in company with a number of other young fellows, and it was some time before he had found a job. The job he found was serving soda water in Alberson's store. In the winter, when the soda trade was slack, he was behind Alberson's cigar counter.

Some wondered how Freeman Todder could live and dress on what Johnnie Alberson paid him. Some guessed that Freeman “knocked down” some of the change that passed through his hands, but those who knew Johnnie Alberson best did not believe that. None who knew Johnnie ever believed he would let even a penny that belonged to him go astray.

That Freeman could dress as he did and board at Miss Redding's—which was not the cheapest place in Riverbank—and have silver dollars to dink in his pocket, and do it on what Alberson paid, was manifestly impossible. The answer that most of those who thought they were knowing gave was “poker.” Even the other “dressy” youths said, “Poker.” Freeman played a careful, not showy, game and did win now and then. No one ever bothered to foot up his winnings and compare them with his losses. As a matter of fact, Freeman Todder's net poker winnings would not have paid for his showy shirts, the gayly striped cuffs of which always showed liberally below his coat sleeves.

As he came up the walk toward the two girls on Miss Redding's porch steps, he raised his hat, and then let it hang in his hand.

“Hello, one and all,” he said. “Who's the young gent you have clamped between you there?”

“This is Lem,” said Lorna. “Lem's going to be among those present here after this, are n't you, Lem?”

“Yes'm,” said Lem; and then to Freeman, “What's 'ellicker'?”

“Now hush, Lem!” said Lorna.

“Well, I want to know. What is it?” Lem insisted. “It's about you,” he said, looking up at Freeman. “She said it. She said she expected it about you.”

Lorna reddened. Freeman Todder's eyes narrowed for an instant; then he smiled.

“I expect it is something devilish, then, son,” he said, “but it's probably not half as bad as the truth. You'll learn that, if you associate with this wicked man long. I'm a 'horrid example.' That right, Gay? They'll take you by the hand, Lem, and point at me and say, 'See that man? Beware! Do not be like him. He is a lost soul. He uses cigarettes and blows the smoke through his nose.'”

“Hah! I can do that!” scoffed Lem.

“You're both of you wicked men, then,” said Gay, but lightly.

Lorna took Lem's hand.

“Come around the house with me,” she said. “I want you to help me pick a lot of syringas for Gay,” and she dragged Lem away. Freeman seated himself beside Gay.

Freeman Todder was not twenty-five, but something hard in his face and eyes made him look older at times. His face was thin and his mouth like a healed wound, so thin were his lips. He did not have much chin. He did not look wholesome. He looked unsafe and cruel.

“L-i-q-u-o-r,” he spelled, and looked at Gay and laughed. “C-a-r-d-s. Also d-i-c-e. I'm a regular Satan, ain't I?”

“Oh, Freeman!” she said reproachfully. “Don't be sarcastic. We were only—”

“Only talking me over. Well, that's something, anyway. That's a sort of flattery.”

He laid his cane across his knees.

“You have been drinking, Freeman,” Gay said.

“Yes. I've had a couple too many. Do you know how I feel? Like this—whoops!” He flung his hat off to the left on the lawn. “Whoops!” He threw his cane to the right.

“Ah!” exclaimed Gay, as if he had intentionally hurt her. “Why do you?”

Freeman spread out his hand on his knee and looked at his fingers one by one, raising each in turn. On one finger he wore a large, flashy ring. He moved the finger so that the light flashed from the facets of the stone. Suddenly he looked into the girl's eyes.

“Keep away from me, Gay,” he said seriously. “I'm no good. I'm warning you, understand? Don't have anything to do with me. I'm bad business. I like you, but I 'm bad business.”

“But, Freeman—”

“Not yet. You can 'but Freeman' me all you like when I get through, but this is my hiss, this is the rattle of my snake buttons. You keep away from me. I'm bad for you, and I'm saying so now because after this I won't care a damn. This is my warning. After this you'll have to look out for yourself. Do you understand what I'm saying?”

“Yes, but you don't really mean it.”

“I do mean it. I'm warning you. If you know what is good for you, you'll never speak to me, or let me speak to you again: Once! Twice! Third and last warning! Warned!”

He waited a moment. When he spoke it was no longer seriously, but in his usual flippant tone. “Who is the Lem kid?” he asked.

“Miss Redding's nephew. His father left him here awhile ago. And—what do you think? Henrietta's Bill has set the wedding day. I'm so glad for Henrietta. She has been so sweet about waiting.”

It was evident that Gay had not taken Freeman's warning as seriously as she might have taken it. Freeman raised his eyebrows with an effect like that of shrugging one's shoulders. He had warned her, and seriously, and that was more than he need have done.

“That so?” he said indifferently, referring to Henrietta. “Henrietta and her Bill give me a pain.”

“Why? Do you know anything about them?” asked Gay eagerly.

“I? No. Why should I?”

“Haven't you suspected anything?” asked Gay.

Freeman turned and looked in her eyes.

“What do you suspect?” he asked as if the whole matter interested him little.

“Well, we may be doing her the most awful injustice,” Gay said, “but Lorna and I have been wondering if there is a Bill. We wonder if Henrietta is n't just pretending there is a Billy Vane—and all.”

Freeman seemed more bored than interested.

“Why should she pretend a thing like that—a crazy thing like that?” he asked indifferently.

“Don't you know how girls love to wear rings on their engagement fingers?” asked Gay. “It's that sort of thing, Lorna and I think. It gives her a romantic hue. She thinks it makes us feel she is fortunate. Is n't it killing!”

Freeman looked at the ants scurrying across the walk at his feet.

“I don't know anything about it,” he said. “You girls may have seen a lot I never saw. You would n't think of such a thing unless you had some reason. How about all the presents she says he sends her?”

“We think she buys them herself,” Gay said. Freeman turned his hand and looked at his long, well-kept nails.

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

“Indeed, yes!”

“Do you remember the silver-backed hand mirror Billy Vane sent her? With her monogram engraved on it?”

“Yes.”

“All right! Johnnie Alberson ordered that for her from Chicago. I saw it when it came and I saw her when she came into the store to pay the bill.”

“Why, Freeman Todder! And you just this minute said you didn't know anything about it!”

“About there being no Billy Vane,” he explained. “There might be a Billy Vane who did not do his duty in the way of presents. He might be a close-fist. Your Henrietta might be afraid you would think he was a cheap skate if presents did not come along regularly.”

Gay considered this.

“Yes,” she said, after a moment, “that might be, but we suspected there was no Billy before we thought of the presents at all. Of course, the presents she has to buy explain why she never has any money—why she is always borrowing—but that is not all. You won't say a word, will you, Freeman?”

“No. It don't interest me at all,” he said. Miss Redding, rosy-cheeked, came to the door then, and tinkled a small supper-bell. Gay, with an exclamation, jumped up and went to find Lem and Lorna and the promised flowers, and Freeman Todder picked up his hat and cane. He hung the hat on the rack in the hall and stood his cane in the umbrella jar and then climbed the stairs. As he reached the top Henrietta Bates's door opened and she came out. They met just outside her door and she slipped something into his hand.

“There's twenty dollars,” she said in a whisper. “It is all I could get. And I can't borrow any more. They are suspicious now.”

“But, my God, Et,” whispered Freeman Todder angrily. “Twenty dollars is n't going to do me any good.”

“All I could get,” said Henrietta shortly, and she hurried down the stairs to greet Lorna and Lem with the smiling face of a woman whose lover has just set the happy day.