hant than Claire
when she crossed her first state-line; rumbled over the bridge across
the Red River into North Dakota. To see Dakota car licenses everywhere,
instead of Minnesota, was like the sensation of street signs in a new
language. And when she found a good hotel in Fargo and had a real bath,
she felt that by her own efforts she had earned the right to enjoy it.

Mr. Boltwood caught her enthusiasm. Dinner was a festival, and in iced
tea the peaceful conquistadores drank the toast of the new Spanish Main;
and afterward, arm in arm, went chattering to the movies.

In front of the Royal Palace, Pictures, 4 Great Acts Vaudeville 4, was
browsing a small, beetle-like, tin-covered car.

"Dad! Look! I'm sure--yes, of course, there's his suitcase--that's the
car of that nice boy--don't you remember?--the one that pulled us out of
the mud at--I don't remember the name of the place. Apparently he's
keeping going. I remember; he's headed for Seattle, too. We'll look for
him in the theater. Oh, the darling, there's his cat! What was the funny
name he gave her--the Marchioness Montmorency or something?"

Lady Vere de Vere, afraid of Fargo and movie crowds, but trusting in her
itinerant castle, the bug, was curled in Milt Daggett's ulster, in the
bottom of the car. She twinkled her whiskers at Claire, and purred to a
stroking hand.

With the excitement of one trying to find the address of a friend in a
strange land Claire looked over the audience when the lights came on
before the vaudeville. In the second row she saw Milt's stiffish,
rope-colored hair--surprisingly smooth above an astoundingly clean new
tan shirt of mercerized silk.

He laughed furiously at the dialogue between Pete-Rosenheim &
Larose-Bettina, though it contained the cheese joke, the mother-in-law
joke, and the joke about the wife rifling her husband's pockets.

"Our young friend seems to have enviable youthful spirits," commented
Mr. Boltwood.

"Now, no superiority! He's probably never seen a real vaudeville show.
Wouldn't it be fun to take him to the Winter Garden or the Follies for
the first time!... Instead of being taken by Jeff Saxton, and having the
humor, oh! so articulately explained!"

The pictures were resumed; the film which, under ten or twelve different
titles, Claire had already seen, even though Brooklyn Heights does not
devote Saturday evening to the movies. The badman, the sheriff--an aged
party with whiskers and boots--the holdup,