me kind of a garment lurking on a
forgotten shelf of the candy-drugs-grocery shop."

"If you do, it wouldn't be worthy of you. But you can try," said Nick
dubiously. And after a late luncheon, she did try, in vain. Other
necessaries were forthcoming, but nighties were things that you had to
bring into the Yosemite Valley, it would seem, or do without. Angela said
nothing of her failure. She supposed that Nick would forget her plight if
she made little of it; but she did not know him thoroughly yet. They took
a walk, and the momentous subject was not mentioned: nevertheless, it
pressed upon Nick's thoughts. As he talked, the "nighty" that was not, and
must be, weighed upon his mind as heavily as though it were a coat of mail
instead of the gossamer creation he imagined.

"Now I've got to concentrate and figure out what's trumps," he said to
himself, when Angela had gone to rest before dinner. "I've dealt myself a
mighty queer card, but there's no good bluffing in this game."

The desired garment declared itself even to the untrained masculine
intelligence as a dainty and dreamlike thing, which, to deserve its name
and be worthy of a fastidious wearer, must be delicate as the outer petals
of a white rose.

How then to obtain for this despoiled goddess such a marvel in a remote
village, lost among Yosemite forests? There was the rub; a vaguely groping
"rub" with no Aladdin's lamp to match.

Nick's thoughts ramped in the cage of his mind like a menagerie of hungry
animals awaiting food. Where was that food--in other words, an
inspiration--to be got? Then of a sudden it dropped at his feet.

He had been pacing uneasily up and down his room; but now, with all his
customary decision, he touched the electric bell. A trim chambermaid of
superior and intelligent appearance answered the call.

"Are you a Californian?" was the first question flung at the neat head, in
place of an expected demand for hot water. She had brought the water, and
was equally prepared for a want unforeseen. "Yes, sir," she said. "I'm a
Native Daughter."

"Hurrah!" said Nick. "Then I know you won't fail me."

She was too well trained a girl to stare. "Are you a Native Son?" she
ventured, seeing that a lead would be useful.

"No; but I ought to have been. My parents were Californian, and my heart
is and always will be. I have to ask help from a Californian now, for the
honour of California."

Usually, when gentlemen clamoured for help from this