The Witness | Page 8

with solemn faces and dejected air into Bill
Ward's room and threw themselves down upon his couch.
"Where's Court?" Bill looked up from the theme he was writing.
"We found him in Steve's room," said Tennelly, gloomily, and shook
his head.
"It's a deuced shame!" burst forth Pat. (He had cut out swearing for a

time.) "He's batty in the bean!"
Tennelly answered the shocked question in the eyes of Bill with a nod.
"Yes, the brightest fellow in the class, but he sure is batty in the bean!
You ought to have heard him talk. Say! I don't believe it was all the fire.
Court's been studying too hard. He's been an awful shark for a fellow
that went in for athletics and everything else. He's studied too hard and
it's gone to his head!"
Tennelly sat gloomily staring across the room. It was the old cry of the
man who cannot understand.
"He needs a little change," said Bill, putting his feet up on the table
comfortably and lighting a cigarette. "Pity the frat. dance is over. He
needs to get him a girl. Be a great stunt if he'd fall for some jolly girl.
Say! I'll tell you what. I'll get Gila after him."
"Who's Gila?" asked Tennelly, gloomily. "He won't notice her any
more than a fly on the wall. You know how he is about girls."
"Gila's my cousin. Gila Dare. She's a good sport, and she's a winner
every time. We'll put Gila on the job. I've got a date with her to-morrow
night and I'll put her wise. She'll just enjoy that kind of thing. He's met
her, too, over at the Navy game. Leave it to Gila."
"What style is she?" asked Tennelly, still skeptical.
"Oh, tiny and stylish and striking, with big eyes. A perfect little peach
of an actress."
"Court's too keen for acting. He'll see through her in half a second. She
can't put one over on Court."
"She won't try," said the ardent cousin. "She'll just be as innocent.
They'll be chums in half an hour, or it'll be the first failure for Gila."
"Well, if any girl can put one over on Court, I'll eat my hat; but it's
worth trying, for if Court keeps on like this we'll all be buying

prayer-books and singing psalms before another semester."
"You'll eat your hat, all right," said Bill Ward, rising in his wrath.
"Nelly, my infant, I tell you Gila never fails. If she gets on the job
Court'll be dead in love with her before the midwinter exams.!"
"I'll believe it when I see it," said Tennelly, rising.
"All right," said Bill. "Remember you're in for a banquet during
vacation. Fricaseed hat the _pièce de resistance_!"
CHAPTER III
It was a sumptuous library in which Gila Dare awaited the coming of
Paul Courtland.
Great, deep, red-leather chairs stood everywhere invitingly, the floor
was spread with a magnificent specimen of Royal Bokhara, the rich
recesses of the noble walls were lined with books in rare editions, a
heavily carved table of dull black wood from some foreign land
sprawled in the center of the room and held a great bronze lamp of
curious pattern, bearing a ruby light. Ornate bronzes lurked on
pedestals in shadows, unexpectedly, and caught the eye alarmingly, like
grim ones set to watch. A throbbing fire like the heart of a lit ruby
burned in a massive fireplace of grotesque tiles, as though it were the
opening into great depths of unquenchable fire to which this room
might be but an approach.
Gila herself, slight, dark-eyed, with pearl-white skin and dusky hair,
was dressed in crimson velvet, soft and clinging like chiffon, catching
the light and shimmering it with strange effect. The dark hair was
curiously arranged, and stabbed just above her ears with two
dagger-like combs flashing with jewels. A single jewel burned at her
throat on an invisible chain, and jewels flashed from the little pointed
crimson-satin slippers, setting off the slim ankles in their crimson-silk
covering. The whole effect was startling. One wondered why she had
chosen so elaborate a costume to waste upon a single college student.

She stood with one dainty foot poised on the brass trappings of the
hearth. In her short skirts she seemed almost a child; so sweet the droop
of the pretty lips; so innocent the dark eyes as they looked into the fire;
so soft the shadows that played in the dark hair! And yet, as she turned
to listen for a step in the hall, there was something gleaming, sinister, in
those dark eyes, something mocking in the red lips. She might have
been a daughter of Satan as she stood, the firelight picking out those
jeweled horns and slippers.
"Leave him to me," she had