'I apologize bitterly,' says Angus. 'The very idea is monstrous,' says
she. 'Twenty minutes--and with all my packing! You will wait over till
the four-thirty-two this afternoon,' she goes on, very stern and
nervous, 'or all is over between us.' 'I'll wait as long as that for
you,' says Angus, going to the steak again. 'Are the other meals here as
good as breakfast?' 'There's one up the street,' says Ellabelle; 'a
Presbyterian.' 'I would prefer a Presbyterian,' says Angus. 'Are those
fried oysters I see up there?'

"That was about the way of it, I gathered later. Anyway, Angus brought
her back, eating on the way a whole wicker suitcase full of lunch that
she put up. And she seemed a good, capable girl, all right. She told me
there was something about Angus. She'd seen that from the first. Even
so, she said, she hadn't let him sweep her off her feet like he had
meant to, but had forced him to give her time to do her packing and
consider the grave step she was taking for better or worse, like every
true, serious-minded woman ought to.

"Angus now said he couldn't afford to fritter away any more time in the
cattle business, having a wife to support in the style she had been
accustomed to, so he would go to work at his trade. He picked out
Wallace, just over in Idaho, as a young and growing town where he could
do well. He rented a nice four-room cottage there, with an icebox out on
the back porch and a hammock in the front yard, and begun to paper and
paint and grain and kalsomine and made good money from the start.
Ellabelle was a crackajack housekeeper and had plenty of time to lie out
in the hammock and read 'Lucile' of afternoons.

"By and by Angus had some money saved up, and what should he do with
bits of it now and then but grubstake old Snowstorm Hickey, who'd been