e had claimed, and more. The little
corner of old Paris set her eyes shining. The fittings were Parisian to
the least detail. Even the waiter spoke no English.

"But I don't see how they make it pay. How did he happen to come here?
Are there enough people that appreciate this kind of thing in Mesa to
support it?"

He smiled at her enthusiasm. "Hardly. The place has a scarce dozen of
regular patrons. Hobart comes here a good deal. So does Eaton. But it
doesn't pay financially. You see, I know because I happen to own it. I
used to eat at Alphonse's restaurant in Paris. So I sent for him. It
doesn't follow that one has to be less a slave to the artificial
comforts of a supercivilized world because one lives at Mesa."

"I see it doesn't. You are certainly a wonderful man."

"Name anything you like. I'll warrant Alphonse can make good if it is
not outside of his national cuisine," he boasted.

She did not try his capacity to the limit, but the oysters, the salad,
the chicken soup were delicious, with the ultimate perfection that
comes only out of Gaul.

They made a delightfully gay and intimate hour of it, and were still
lingering over their demi-tasse when Yesler's name was mentioned.

"Isn't it splendid that he's doing so well?" cried the girl with
enthusiasm. "The doctor says that if the bullet had gone a fraction of
an inch lower, he would have died. Most men would have died anyhow,
they say. It was his clean outdoor life and magnificent constitution
that saved him."

"That's what pulled him through," he nodded. "It would have done his
heart good to see how many friends he had. His recovery was a
continuous performance ovation. It would have been a poorer world for a
lot of people if Sam Yesler had crossed the divide."

"Yes. It would have been a very much poorer one for several I know."

He glanced shrewdly at her. "I've learned to look for a particular
application when you wear that particularly sapient air of mystery."

Her laugh admitted his hit. "Well, I was thinking of Laska. I begin to
think HER fair prince has come."

"Meaning Yesler?"

"Yes. She hasn't found it out herself yet. She only knows she is
tremendously interested."

"He's a prince all right, though he isn't quite a fairy. The woman that
gets him will be lucky.

"The man that gets Laska will be more that lucky," she protested
loyally.

"I dare say," he agreed carelessly. "But, then, good women are not so
rare as good men. There are