d get it.' Draw up your
stool."

And presently Carley found herself seated across the crude table from
Glenn, with the background of chinked logs in her sight, and the smart
of wood smoke in her eyes. In years past she had sat with him in the
soft, subdued, gold-green shadows of the Astor, or in the sumptuous
atmosphere of the St. Regis. But this event was so different, so
striking, that she felt it would have limitless significance. For one
thing, the look of Glenn! When had he ever seemed like this, wonderfully
happy to have her there, consciously proud of this dinner he had
prepared in half an hour, strangely studying her as one on trial? This
might have had its effect upon Carley's reaction to the situation,
making it sweet, trenchant with meaning, but she was hungry enough and
the dinner was good enough to make this hour memorable on that score
alone. She ate until she was actually ashamed of herself. She laughed
heartily, she talked, she made love to Glenn. Then suddenly an idea
flashed into her quick mind.

"Glenn, did this girl Flo teach you to cook?" she queried, sharply.

"No. I always was handy in camp. Then out here I had the luck to fall
in with an old fellow who was a wonderful cook. He lived with me for a
while. ... Why, what difference would it have made--had Flo taught me?"

Carley felt the heat of blood in her face. "I don't know that it would
have made a difference. Only--I'm glad she didn't teach you. I'd rather
no girl could teach you what I couldn't."

"You think I'm a pretty good cook, then?" he asked.

"I've enjoyed this dinner more than any I've ever eaten."

"Thanks, Carley. That'll help a lot," he said, gayly, but his eyes shone
with earnest, glad light. "I hoped I'd surprise you. I've found out here
that I want to do things well. The West stirs something in a man. It
must be an unwritten law. You stand or fall by your own hands. Back East
you know meals are just occasions--to hurry through--to dress for--to
meet somebody--to eat because you have to eat. But out here they are
different. I don't know how. In the city, producers, merchants, waiters
serve you for money. The meal is a transaction. It has no significance.
It is money that keeps you from starvation. But in the West money
doesn't mean much. You must work to live."

Carley leaned her elbows on the table and gazed at him curiously and
admiringly. "Old fellow, you're a wonder. I can't tell you how proud I
am of you. That you co