Jephson.
Mr. Thacker wheeled dramatically and faced his young assistant.
"Richard," he ordered, "go to San Marco. Go to San Marco and see to it that Miss Cynthia Meyrick does not change her mind."
A gone feeling shot through Mr. Minot in the vicinity of his stomach. It was possible that he really needed that lunch.
"Yes, sir," he said faintly. "Of course, it's up to me to do anything you say. If you insist, ril go, but—"
"But what, Richard?"
"Isn't it a rather big order? Women—aren't they like an—er—^April afternoon—or something
of that sort? It seems to me I've read they were —in books/'
"Humph," snorted Mr. Thacker. "Is your knowledge of the ways of women confined to books?"
A dose observer might have noted the ghost of a smile in Mr. Minot's clear blue eyes.
"In part, it is," he admitted. "And then again —in part, it isn't"
"Well, put away your books, my boy," said Mr. Thacker. "A nice, instructive little vacation has fallen on you from heaven. Mad old Jeph-son here must be saved from himself. That wedding must take place—^positively, rain or shine. I trust you to see that it does, Richard."
Mr. Minot rose and stepped over to his hat and coat.
"I'm off for San Miarco," he announced blithely. His lips were firm but smiling. "The land of sunshine and flowers—and orange blossoms or I know the reason why."
"Jephson trusts Harrowby," said Mr. Thacker. "All very well. But just the same if I were you
I'd be aboard that yacht to-night when it leaves New York harbor. Invited or uninvited."
"I must ask," put in Mr. Jephson hurriedly, "that you do nothing to embarrass Lord Har-rowby in any way."
"No," said Thacker. "But keep an eye on him, my boy. A keen and busy eye."
"I will," agreed Mr. Minot. "Do I look like Cupid, gentlemen? No? Ah—it's the overcoat. Well, I'll get rid of that in Florida. I'll say good-by— "
He shook hands with Jephson and with Thacker.
"Good-by, Richard," said the latter.
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