"Now, where does Mr. Rufus Lightener do business?"

"Over there at the bank."

"Good. And where can I get something to eat?"

"Stand up or sit down?"

"Well, preferably 'sit down.'"

"Railroad Hotel. Back there about a block. Dinner, fifty cents."

"I certainly am glad I found you," said Wade. "I don't know what I'd
have done in this great city without your assistance. Now you take me
over to the bank. After that we'll pay a visit to the hotel. You'd
better get something to eat yourself while I'm partaking of that
half-dollar banquet."

An hour later the journey began. Wade, fairly comfortable on the back
seat of the carryall, smoked his after-dinner pipe. The month was June,
there had been recent rains and the winding, dipping country road
presented new beauties to the eyes at every stage. Wade, fresh from the
mountains of Colorado, revelled in the softer and gentler loveliness
about him. The lush, level meadow, the soft contour of the distant
hills, the ever-present murmur and sparkle of running water delighted
him even while they brought homesick memories of his own native
Virginia. It was a relief to get away from the towering mountains, the
eternal blue of unclouded skies, the parched, arid miles of unclothed
mesa, the clang and rattle of ore cars and the incessant grinding of
quartz mills. Yes, it was decidedly pleasant to have a whole summer--if