The Missing Coal

"You seem to have recovered. But why couldn't you leave the girl alone?"

"I'm not sure she'd have liked that," Jake replied. "It's a pity you have
no artistic taste, or you might have seen what a picture she made."

"As a matter of fact, I did see it, but she has, no doubt, a half-breed
lover who'd seriously misunderstand your admiration, which might lead to
your getting stabbed some night. Anyhow, why did you buy the flowers?"

"For one thing, she was taking them to the Magellan, and I couldn't stand
for seeing that blaze of color wasted on the guzzling crowd you generally
find in a hotel dining-room."

"That doesn't apply to the fruit. You can't eat those things. They
preserve them."

"Eat them!" Jake exclaimed with a pitying look. "Well, I suppose it's the
only use you have for fruit." He took a stalk fringed with rich red bloom
and laid it across the dark green fruit, which was packed among glossy
leaves. "Now, perhaps, you'll see why I bought it. I rather think it
makes a dainty offering."

"Ah!" said Dick. "To whom do you propose to offer it?"

"Miss Kenwardine," Jake replied with a twinkle; "though of course her
proper color's Madonna blue."

Dick said nothing, but walked on, and when Jake asked where he was going,
answered shortly: "To the telephone."

"Well," said Jake, "knowing you as I do, I suspected something of the
kind. With the romance of the South all round you, you can't rise above
concrete and coal."