Her colour was visibly rising.
But Alfred was now in the full glow of his genial account to his
friend. "Set 'em up?" he repeated in answer to an evident
suggestion from the other end of the line, "I should say I would.
The drinks are on me. Tell the boys I'll be right over. And
say, Donneghey," he added, in a more confidential tone, "I want
to bring one of the men home with me. I want him to keep an eye
on the house to-night"; then after a pause, he concluded
confidentially, "I'll tell you all about it when I get there. It
looks like a kidnapping scheme to me," and with that he hung up
the receiver, unmistakably pleased with himself, and turned his
beaming face toward Zoie.
"It's all right, dear," he said, rubbing his hands together with
evident satisfaction, "Donneghey is going to let us have a
Special Officer to watch the house to-night."
"I won't HAVE a special officer," declared Zoie vehemently; then
becoming aware of Alfred's great surprise, she explained
half-tearfully, "I'm not going to have the police hanging around
our very door. I would feel as though I were in prison."
"You ARE in prison, my dear," returned the now irrepressible
Alfred. "A prison of love-- you and our precious boys." He
stooped and implanted a gracious kiss on her forehead, then
turned toward the table for his hat. "Now," he said, "I'll just
run around the corner, set up the drinks for the boys, and bring
the officer home with me," and drawing himself up proudly, he
cried gaily in parting, "I'll bet there's not another man in
Chicago who has what I have to- night.
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