"If you call taking her out to watch a lot of bellowing calves
get branded, entertainment," Miss Chapin sighed.

"I wonder what makes widows so fascinating?" observed the
youthful Miss Blake.

"I hope I never find out." Jean clutched nervously at the gold
medal on her dress. "Wouldn't that be dreadful!"

"My dear, Culver seems perfectly healthy. Why worry?"

"I--I wish he were here."

Miss Blake leaned forward and read the inscription on her
companion's medal. "Oh, isn't it heavy!" feeling it reverently.

"Pure gold, like himself! You should have seen him when he won
it. Why, at the finish of that race all the men but Culver were
making the most horrible faces. They were simply _dead_."

Miss Blake's hands were clasped in her lap. "They all make
faces," said she. "Have you told Roberta about your engagement?"

"No, she doesn't dream of it, and I don't want her to know. I'm
so afraid she'll think, now that mother has gone, that I asked
her here just as a chaperon. Perhaps I'll tell her when Culver
comes."

"I adore athletes. I wouldn't give a cent for a man who wasn't
athletic."