It pleases you to believe that a woman's place in
this twentieth-century world is inevitably at the fireside--her own
fireside. I don't agree with you; I am afraid I shall never agree with
you. Where are you going?"
"I am going West, Monday."
"How odd!" she commented. "We are going West, too--father and I--though
not quite so soon as Monday."
"You are?" he queried. "Whereabout in the West?"
She did not tell him where. The car motor was whirring smoothly now,
the chauffeur was sliding into his seat behind the pilot-wheel, and the
old gentleman in the tonneau was growing quite violently impatient.
"If we are both going in the same direction we needn't say good-by," she
said hastily, giving him her hand at parting. "Let it be _auf
wiedersehen_." Then the clang of the closing tonneau door and the
outgoing rush of the big car coincided so accurately that Blount had to
spring nimbly aside to save himself from being run down.
II
THE BOSS
It is a far cry from Boston to the land of broken mountain ranges, lone
buttes, and irrigated mesas, and a still farther one from the veranda of
an exclusive North Shore club to a private dining-room in the
Inter-Mountain Hotel, whose entrance portico faces the Capitol grounds
in the chief city of the Sage-brush State, whose eastern windows command
a magnificent view of the Lost River Range, and from whose roof, on a
clear day, one may see the snowy peaks of the Sierras notching the
distant western horizon.
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