going on through to Denver?"

"To Denver and beyond," was the reply. "Winton has a notion of
hibernating in the mountains--fancy it; in the dead of winter!--and he
has persuaded me to go along. He sketches a little, you know."

"Oh, so he is an artist?" said Virginia, with interest newly aroused.

"No," said Adams gloomily, "he isn't an artist--isn't much of
anything, I'm sorry to say. Worse than all, he doesn't know his
grandfather's middle name. Told me so himself."

"That is inexcusable--in a dilettante," said Miss Virginia mockingly.
"Don't you think so?"

"It is inexcusable in anyone," said the Technologian, rising to take
his leave. Then, as a parting word: "Does the Rosemary set its own
table? or do you dine in the dining-car?"

"In the dining-car, if we have one. Uncle Somerville lets us dodge the
Rosemary's cook whenever we can," was the answer; and with this bit of
information Adams went his way to the Denver sleeper.

Finding Winton in his section, poring over a blue-print map and making
notes thereon after the manner of a man hard at work, Adams turned
back to the smoking-compartment.

Now for Mr. Morton P. Adams the salt of life was a joke, harmless or
otherwise, as the tree might fall. So, during the long afternoon which
he wore out in solitude, there grew up in him a keen desire to see