"Don't you be frightened, li'l' pardner. You've come home. There
won't anybody hurt you here."
The soft drawl of Clay's voice carried inexpressible comfort. So too
did the pressure of his strong hand on her arm. She knew not only that
he was a man to trust, but that so far as could be he would take her
troubles on his broad shoulders. Tears brimmed over her soft eyes.
The Arizonan ran her up to his floor in the automatic elevator.
"I've got a friend from home stayin' with me. He's the best-hearted
fellow you ever saw. You'll sure like him," he told her without stress
as he fitted his key to the lock.
He felt her shrink beneath his coat, but it was too late to draw back
now. In another moment Lindsay was introducing her casually to the
embarrassed and astonished joint proprietor of the apartment.
The Runt was coatless and in his stockinged-feet. He had been playing
a doleful ditty on a mouth-organ. Caught so unexpectedly, he blushed a
beautiful brick red to his neck.
Johnnie ducked his head and scraped the carpet with his foot in an
attempt at a bow. "Glad to meet up with you-all, Miss. Hope you're
feelin' tol'able."
Clay slipped the coat from her shoulders and saw that the girl was wet
to the skin.
"Heat some water, Johnnie, and make a good stiff toddy. Miss Kitty has
been out in the rain."
He lit the gas-log and from his bedroom brought towels, a bathrobe,
pajamas, a sweater, and woolen slippers. On a lounge before the fire
he dumped the clothes he had gathered.
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