Now, Pepper, I'm asking you to help me." "Ahuh! Well, let's go in the writing room, where we can talk," said the other, and he took hold of Lane's arm.

When they were seated in a secluded corner he lighted a cigar, and faced Lane with shrewd, kindly eyes.

"Son, I like you and Blair as well as I hate these slackers Swann and Mackay, and their crowd.

I could tell you a heap, and maybe help you, though I think young Holt is not a bad egg....

Is his sister the dark one who steps so straight and holds herself so well ?" "Yes, that sounds like Dorothy," replied Lane.
"She's about the only one I know who doesn't paint her face and I never saw her at--well, never mind where.