down there
to hunt. Henry Biltmer and his wife live there and keep a tidy place.
He's an old German who worked in the brewery until he lost his health.
Now he runs a few cattle. Henry likes to do me a favor. I've done a few
for him." Fred drowned his cigarette in his saucer and studied Thea's
expression, which was wistful and intent, envious and admiring. He
continued with satisfaction: "If you went down there and stayed with
them for two or three months, they wouldn't let you pay anything. I
might send Henry a new gun, but even I couldn't offer him money for
putting up a friend of mine. I'll get you transportation. It would make
a new girl of you. Let me write to Henry, and you pack your trunk.
That's all that's necessary. No red tape about it. What do you say,
Thea?"

She bit her lip, and sighed as if she were waking up.

Fred crumpled his napkin impatiently. "Well, isn't it easy enough?"

"That's the trouble; it's TOO easy. Doesn't sound probable. I'm not used
to getting things for nothing."

Ottenburg laughed. "Oh, if that's all, I'll show you how to begin. You
won't get this for nothing, quite. I'll ask you to let me stop off and
see you on my way to California. Perhaps by that time you will be glad
to see me. Better let me break the news to Bowers. I can manage him. He
needs a little transportation himself now and then. You must get
corduroy riding-things and leather leggings. There are a few snakes
about. Why do you keep frowning?"

"Well, I don't exactly see why you take the trouble. What do you get out
of it? You haven't liked me so well the last two or three weeks."

Fred dropped his third cigarette and looked at his watch. "If you don't
see that, it's because you need a tonic. I'll show you what I'll get out
of it. Now I'm going to get a cab and take you home. You are too tired
to walk a step. You'd better get to bed as soon as you get there. Of
course, I don't like you so well when you're half anaesthetized all the
time. What have you been doing to yourself?"

Thea rose. "I don't know. Being bored eats the heart out of me, I
guess." She walked meekly in front of him to the elevator. Fred noticed
for the hundredth time how vehemently her body proclaimed her state of
feeling. He remembered how remarkably brilliant and beautiful she had
been when she sang at Mrs. Nathanmeyer's: flushed and gleaming, round
and supple, something that couldn't be dimmed or downed. And now she
seemed a moving figure of dis