"Oh, as for me, that matters nothing at all, but I am thinking of you
and of your profession, your standing."

"I know that, dad. I sometimes wish you would think a little more about
yourself. But what of Neil Fraser?"

"He has come into some money. He has bought the ranch."

Barry's tone expressed doubtful approval. "Neil is a good sort, dad,
awfully reckless, but I like him," said Barry. "He is up and up with it
all."

"Now, what about your afternoon?" said his father.

"Well, to begin with, I had a dose of my old friend, the enemy."

"Barry, you don't tell me! Your asthma!" His father sat back from the
table gazing at him in dismay. "And I thought that was all done with."

"So did I, dad. But it really didn't amount to much. Probably some
stomach derangement, more likely some of that pollen which is floating
around now. I passed through a beaver meadow where they were cutting
hay, and away I went in a gale of sneezing, forty miles an hour. But I'm
all right now, dad. I'm telling you the truth. You know I do."

"Yes, yes, I know," said his father, concern and relief mingling in his
voice, "but you don't know how to take care of yourself, Barry. But go
on with your tale."

"Well, as I was panting along like a 'heavey horse,' as Harry Hobbs