credited with the ability and inclination to do the most impossible
things if given half an excuse. It is needless, therefore, to remark
that Mr. Hennage's depravity, like Mrs. Pennycook's virtue, partook
more or less of the nature of the surrounding country; that is to say,
it was susceptible of development.

Most people in this queer world of ours harbor an impression that if
you make friends with a dog he will not bite you, and that lion tamers
are enabled to accumulate gray hairs merely by the exercise of nerve
and the paralyzing influence of the human eye. Hence, when the worst
man in San Pasqual confronted Donna, she did not at once scream for Sam
Singer, but looked Mr. Hennage in the eye and quavered.

"Good morning, Mr. Hennage."

It was hard work continuing to look Mr. Hennage in the eye. To-day he
looked more like a bulldog than ever, for his eyes were red-lidded and
watery.

Mr. Hennage nodded. He drew a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket
and blew his nose with a report like a pistol shot before he spoke.

"How's the kitty?" he demanded.

Donna glanced toward the store and about the kitchen wearily and
replied.

"I don't know, Mr. Hennage. I guess she's around the house somewhere."

"The Lord love you" murmured the gambler. The hard lips lifted, the