frying pan; an omelette, golden brown and buttercup yellow, of a fluff,
a fragrance, with savories hidden beneath its surface, a conserve of
fruits, luscious, amber and subtly biting, the coffee of dreams and a
bottle of red wine, smooth as honey.

"I hope you don't think that we're the kind of wolves that's always
gatherin' round wherever there's a snack of food," murmured Mrs. Thomas
softly as she took a seat beside Pearl. "We got our own cabin just a
piece up in the woods, but José, he kind of wanted to make a celebration
of your coming up."

Pearl did not answer, but slipped languidly out of her cloak, untwisted
her heavy veil, removed her hat, José's eyes as well as Mrs. Thomas's
following her the while with unmixed admiration, and sat down.

José immediately began to roll cigarettes and smoke them while he ate.

"Well, what is the news?" asked Gallito, as he, at least, began his
evening meal with every evidence of appreciation; "good fishing, good
hunting, good prospecting, eh, Mrs. Nitschkan?"

The gipsy, for she was one by birth as well as by inclination, nodded
and showed her teeth in a satisfied smile. "So good that it looks like
we'd be kep' here even longer than I expected when we come." She drew
some bits of quartz from her pocket and threw them out on the table
before him. "Some specimens I chipped off in my new prospect," she said,
her eyes upon him.

"So," he said, examining them with interest, "your luck, Mrs. Nitschkan,
as usual. Where--? Excuse me," a dark flush rose on his parchment skin