reet
clothes.

"Run along, little ones, and play tricks on the ignorant country folks
from Harlem and Flatbush," advised Beauty Phillips as she took
Wallingford's arm and turned away with him. "You've been whipsawed!"

She was exceptionally gracious to J. Rufus that evening, but for the
first time in many days he was extremely thoughtful. A vague unrest
possessed him and it grew as the Beauty became more gracious. He
guessed that he could marry her if he wished, but somehow the idea did
not please him as it might have done a few weeks earlier. He liked the
Beauty perhaps even better than before, but somehow she was not quite
the type of woman for him, and he had not realized it until she
brought him face to face with the problem.

"By the way," he said as he bid her good night, "I think I'll take a
little run about the country for a while. I'm a whole lot tired of
this man's town."

CHAPTER XVII

J. RUFUS SEEKS FOR PROFITABLE INVESTMENT IN
THE COUNTRY

A rattling old carryall, drawn by one knobby yellow horse and driven
by a decrepit patriarch of sixty, stopped with a groan and a creak and
a final rattle at the door of the weather-beaten Atlas Hotel, and a
grocery "drummer," a beardless youth with pink cheeks, jumped hastily
out and rushed into the clean but bare little office, followed as
hastily by a grizzled veteran of the road who sold dry-goods and
notions and wore gaudy young clothes. Wallingford emerged much more
slowly, as became his ponderous size. He was dressed in a green summer
suit of ineffable fabric, wore green low shoes, green silk hose, a
green felt hat, and a green bow tie, below which, in the bosom of his
green silk negligee shirt, glowed a huge diamond. Richness and bigness
were the very essence of him, and the aged driver, recognizing true
worth when he saw it, gave a jerk at his dust-crusted old cap as he
addressed him.

"'Tain't no use to hurry now," he quavered. "Them other two'll have
the good rooms."

J. Rufus, from natural impulse, followed in immediately. There was no
one behind the little counter, but the young grocery drummer, having
hastily inspected the sparse entries of the preceding days, had
registered himself for room two.

"There ain't a single transient in the house, Billy," he said, turning
to the dry-goods and notion salesman, "so I'll just put you down for
number three."

A buxom young woman came out of the adjoining dining-room, wiping her
red hands and