He
wrote his name in the places directed, and flung down the pen like a child
in a rage.
"Now get me out of Montana before Ridgway knows," he cried brokenly.
"You may leave to-morrow night, Mr. Eaton. You'll only have to appear in
court once personally. We'll arrange it quietly for to-morrow afternoon.
Ridgway won't know until it is done and you are gone."
CHAPTER 20. A LITTLE LUNCH AT APHONSE'S
It chanced that Ridgway, through the swinging door of a department store,
caught a glimpse of Miss Balfour as he was striding along the street. He
bethought him that it was the hour of luncheon, and that she was no end
better company than the revamped noon edition of the morning paper.
Wherefore he wheeled into the store and interrupted her inspection of
gloves.
"I know the bulliest little French restaurant tucked away in a side street
just three blocks from here. The happiness disseminated in this world by
that chef's salads will some day carry him past St. Peter with no questions
asked."
"You believe in salvation by works?" she parried, while she considered his
invitation.
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