chin as she kept the clear wonder of her eyes upon him.

"It makes you think of singers making harmony together in a great open
space. I'd like to know the man who made the selections," he concluded.

"What kind of a windfall?" she asked.

"A real one. Pullman travelers sometimes prop their windows open with
books. You can see the window-mark on the cover of this one. I found it
two miles out, beside the right-of-way. There was no name in it, so I
kept it. It's the book I read most except one."

"What's the one?"

He laughed, holding up the still more corpulent Sears-Roebuck catalogue.

"Ah," said she gravely. "That accounts, I suppose, for the top shelf."

"Yes, mostly."

"Do you like them? The Conscientious Improvers, I mean?"

"I think they're bunk."

"Then why did you get them?"

"Oh, I suppose I was looking for something," he returned; and though his
tone was careless, she noticed for the first time a tinge of
self-consciousness.