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Billie's father was the prominent Martin Bradley, well known among real estate and insurance men, and it was from him that Billie, whose real name was Beatrice, had taken her brown eyes and brown hair and even that merry, irrepressible imp of mischief that made Billie Bradley the most popular, best-loved girl in all North Bend.
"Better not give me a chance," was the grumbling reply, as the trooper bit off a big piece of tobacco and tucked it away in his cheek. Reveille was just sounding when the boys, accompanied by their three friends and Ambrosio, perched upon Billie's horse, drew up in front of Lieut. Grant's quarters.
A shower did come up, a big one that lasted most of the way home, and Billie's gray linen suit was wet through, but the weather was warm and except that she looked extremely bedraggled, she was none the worse and refused to accept the loan of Nicholas' coat. They left the three guests in Tokyo with the hired motor car, and Mr. Campbell with Miss Helen and Mary joined the others in the "Comet."
Billie's evident eagerness to arrive at his unknown destination only added to my own recklessness, and I hung on desperately, swearing a little, I fear, under my breath. There was only one way in which I could hope to get in through the back.
The first week in August, Jean, who had acted as treasurer of the tent fund, announced that it had proved a solid financial success. Every tent was full and booked up to the middle of September. The girls from the Art School had persuaded two more batches to find the trail to Gilead, and Billie's boy friends had turned their tents into headquarters for the club they belonged to at school.
But Billie's shake of the head was very doubtful. "I don't see how that helps me any now," she said. That afternoon Billie took herself and a book out on the porch and tried hard, but unsuccessfully, to forget her troubles.
He followed Billie in a docile manner out through the front door, and they made their way to the garage at the back of the house, both silent. The only difference between their respective silences was that Billie's was thoughtful, while Bream's was just the silence of a man who has unhitched his brain and is getting along as well as he can without it.
If you had asked him, he would have said that he had acted for the best, and that out of evil cometh good, or some sickening thing like that. That was the sort of man Samuel Marlowe was. His face was very close to Billie's, who had cheered up wonderfully by this time, and he was whispering his degraded words of endearment into her ear, when there was a sort of explosion in the doorway.
"Billie only said," interrupted Violet, coming to Billie's rescue, "that Chet was crazy to go and would if he had half a chance." Ferd sank back in his chair, too dismayed to speak. "Well, of all Say, old man, you've got to go," and he turned to Chet pleadingly. "What sort of a party do you think this is going to be anyway, with Billie at Three Towers Hall and you back here in North Bend?
"It's a tough-looking place, whatever it is," was Billie's comment. "I wish the fellows were here." And then for the first time in more than half an hour Billie bethought him of his companions. His strange experience with the ape had driven all other thoughts out of his mind. "By George!" he exclaimed aloud, "I wonder how the fight with the bandits came out?"
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