but romance? And there was her Irish blood to consider. The
association of pretty nurse and interesting patient always afforded
excellent background for sentimental nonsense, the obligations of
the one and the gratitude of the other. Well, he had nipped that
in the bud.

And why hadn't he taken this Two-Hawks person - how easy it was to
fall into Kitty's way of naming the chap! - why hadn't he taken him
directly to the Roosevelt? Why all this pother and secrecy over
a total stranger? Stefani Gregor, who lived opposite Kitty and who
hadn't prospered particularly since the day he had exhibited the
drums of jeopardy - he was the reason. These were volcanic days,
and a friend of Stefani Gregor - who played the violin like
Paganini - might well be worth the trouble of a little courtesy.
Then, too, there was that mark of the thong - a charm, a military
identification disk or something of value. Whatever it was, the
rogues had got it. Murder and loot. And as soon as he returned
to consciousness the young fellow would be making inquiries.

Perhaps Kitty's point of view regarding a certain duffer aged
fifty-two was nearer the truth than the duffer himself realized.
Second childhood! As if the drums of jeopardy would ever again
see light, after that tempest of fire and death - that mud
volcano!

One thing was certain - there would be no more cat-napping. The
game was on again. He was assured of that side of it.

Green stones, the sunlight breaking against the flaws in a shower
of golden sparks; green as the pulp of a Champagne grape; the drums