m in Martin Whitney's bank. "If he'd just been
through it all himself, he couldn't have understood any better how I
feel about it."

"Did you tell him about the farm?" Mary asked.

This was an idea of Graham's which she and Rush had been developing with
him during the half hour in the drawing-room before they had gone down to
dinner. Young Stannard, during his two years on a destroyer, had
conceived an extraordinary longing for Mother Earth, and had filled in
his dream in tolerably complete detail. What he wanted was an out-of-door
life which should not altogether deprive him of the pleasures of an urban
existence; and he accomplished this paradox by premising a farm within
convenient motoring distance of Chicago, on one of the hard roads.
Somewhere in the dairy belt, out Elgin way perhaps. You could have
wonderful week-end house parties in a place like that, even in winter,
with skiing and skating for amusements, and in summer it would be simply
gorgeous. And, of course, one could always run into town for the night if
there was anything particular to come for.

Mary had volunteered to keep house for them and they had talked a lot of
amusing nonsense as to what her duties should be. Graham, too, had a kid
sister, only seventeen, who fitted admirably into the picture. She loved
the country, simply lived in riding breeches and rode like a man--a sight
better than most men--and drove a car like a young devil. There was
nothing, in fact, she couldn't do.

Graham was altogether serious about it. He had been scouting around
during the fortnight since his return and had his eyes on two or three
places that might do. There was one four-hundred-acre property that was
altogether desirable, ideal in fact, except for the one painful
particular that the cost of it was just about twice as much as Graham's
father was willing to run to. But if Rush would go in with him they need
seek no further. The thing was as good as settled.

"I did talk to father about it," Rush now told Mary. "The thing is a real
idea. Graham and I talked seriously about it while we were smoking before
we went up-stairs. The scheme is to run a dairy, hog and poultry
combination on a manufacturing basis and then sell our whole product
direct to two or three customers in town, one or two of the
clubs--perhaps a hotel. Deliver by motor truck every day, you see, and
leave the middleman out entirely. It's the only way to beat the game.
Father saw it like a shot.