Miss Cal

"Bill Dexter was proprietor of the Golden Sands Gambling Hell at Nome, the year of the great boom."

He stared an instant. As he turned his face from me to the smoke-colored figure flashing her wonderful emeralds from group to group, he encountered the watchful, critical eyes of Betty St. Edmond--eyes that nothing escaped and nothing held. I thought I detected more than a shade of apprehension in the great man's commonly imperturbable countenance.

How would Betty take it?

I said to myself: "She already takes in whether I am being 'diverting' or not. I am being disturbing. Another two minutes and she will rescue him."

"Apart from her voice," Noel Berwick was saying, in his aloof way, "my memory of the young woman is, I confess, a little vague. But certainly I got no impression of her being that sort."

"What sort?"

"Perhaps you are mistaken."

"You think life so rich as to squander on the world two American girls each with a voice and each called