eavily again. "It is the only life. The only way to live. But
shucks, folks can't always have what they want."

"There it is, that little white house, third from the corner," she said,
pointing eagerly, as he drew up the car to a spasmodic halt.

He looked critically at the small lawn and the tiny cottage. "Those
rose-bushes need trimming," he said, frowning. "There's a loose corner on
the porch, too. Bet that grass hasn't been watered for three weeks. Why
folks don't keep up their property is more than I can see."

"Look at the view," said Eveley suddenly. "See the ships out in the bay,
and the aeroplanes over North Island. Isn't it beautiful? If we had
field-glasses we could see the people walking around in Tent City, and
the lemon in the tea on the veranda at Coronado."

"I've got field-glasses at home," he said wistfully. "In my suit-case.
But I didn't unpack. Daughter does not like a lot of trash around the
house. I'll bet we could see the gobs on that battle-ship if we had the
glasses." He turned again to the yard. "It'll take a lot of work keeping
up this place. And you busy every day wouldn't have much time for it. I
reckon you'd be afraid alone nights, too. An apartment is better for a
woman by herself."

"But the freedom--"

"Women hadn't ought to have too much freedom. It spoils 'em. This is the
born place for a man--and a dog--and field-glasses--and a Ford."

"Let's go inside and look it over," said Eveley. "Did you ever see such a
place for chickens? Nice clean little coops all ready for them. Wouldn't
it be a paradise for half a dozen hens?"

"It's a lot of work raising chickens," said the old man. "It's a job for
a man, really. You wouldn't like it." Then, thoughtfully: "Half a day's
work would make that place fit for the king's pullets."

"And look at the cunning little garden," urged Eveley.

"Needs hoeing. All run over with weeds. Whole place going to rack and
ruin. Needs a man around here, anybody can see that."

"Come in, come in," cried Eveley, unlocking the kitchen door. "See the
little gas stove, and the tiny table--and the cooler. Isn't it fun?
Couldn't you have the time of your life here, reveling in liver and
cabbage and pinochle? Wouldn't your friend be crazy about it?"

The old man squirmed restlessly, and passed into the next room. Eveley
dropped down on the side of the bed, and set the springs bounding.

"It is a good bed. That table seems made for pinochle, doesn't it? I can