"Abalone shells--tourists," capitulated Baker; "also Mexican drawn work,
bead belts, burned leather, fake turquoise and ostrich eggs. Sabe?"

"Sure. But why not a tourist?"

"Tourist--in White Oaks!" cried Baker. "Son, White Oaks raises raisins
and peaches and apricots and figs and such things in quantities to
stagger you. It is a nice, well-built city, and well conducted, and full
of real estate boards and chambers of commerce. But it is not framed up
for tourists, and it knows it. Not at 100 degrees Fahrenheit 'most all
summer, and a chill and solemn land fog 'most all winter."

"Well, why timber?" demanded Bob.

"My dear Watson," said Baker, indicating Mr. Welton, who grinned. "Does
your side partner resemble a raisin raiser? Has he the ear marks of a
gentle agriculturist? Would you describe him as a typical sheepman, or
as a daring and resolute bee-keeper?"

Bob shook his head, still unconvinced.

"Well, if you will uncover my dark methods," sighed Baker. He leaned
over and deftly abstracted from the breast pocket of Bob's coat a long,
narrow document. "You see the top of this stuck out in plain sight. To
the intelligent eye instructed beyond the second grade of our excellent
school system the inscription cannot be mistaken." He held it around for
Bob to see. In plain typing the document was endorsed as follows:

"Granite County Timber Lands."

"My methods are very subtle," said Baker, laughing. "I find it difficult
to explain them. Come around sometime and I'll pick it out for you on
the piano."

"Where are you going?" asked Bob in his turn.

"Los Angeles, on business."

"On business?--or just buying abalone shells?"

"It takes a millionaire or an Iowa farmer to be a tourist," replied
Baker.

"What are you doing?"

"Supporting an extravagant wife, I tell Mrs. Baker. You want to get down
that way. The town's a marvel. It's grown from thirty thousand to two
hundred thousand in twenty years; it has enough real estate subdivisions
to accommodate eight million; it has invented the come-on house built by
the real estate agents to show how building is looking up at
Lonesomehurst; it has two thousand kinds of architecture--all different;
it has more good stuff and more fake stuff than any place on earth--it's
a wonder. Come on down and I'll show you the high buildings."

He chatted for a few moments, then rose abruptly and disappeared down
the aisle toward the sleeping cars without the formality of a far