"Afraid not. You see, the oil business has developed to an importance far beyond everything else down here. When this man, Carranza, went into office, he went in under what they call the Constitution of 1917. It provides that the State is entitled to retain what they call 'subsoil rights.' That is, they don't want to sell oil lands or mines outright, they just lease them. "Now, if they should decide, and a lot of them want to, that that Constitution is retroactive--and undermines the titles of land that's already owned by foreign capital, there'd be a lot of influence brought to bear to make trouble." "That would affect our mine, wouldn't it?" "Yes, but mines are pretty small potatoes compared to oil. People down here will tell you that the Constitution is merely a matter of form and that if the oil men will go on paying their taxes nothing will happen; but, of course, that sort of assurance doesn't go far when a man's putting up his money. If they get a new government down here, and we get a new one at home, the chances are that the United States will demand guarantees of some kind. It's a bad question, take it any way you like. "The Mexican says: 'These oil lands are mine.' And they are. The American says: 'What good were they to anybody when you had them?' None whatever, and the world needs oil, so there you are." They rode on for a few minutes in silence. Scott watched, with the mixed pleasure of the horseman and the admiring male, the girl's graceful figure adapt itself to the jog of the horse. He reflected that there was something very clean-cut and alive about her, from the way her hair sprang in its tight little waves away from her firm white neck, to the quick flash of her dark eyes; there was a vividness and a health about her which appealed strongly to the out-of-doors man. Nothing could have been further from his idea of a rich man's daughter; a pampered being, all nerves and affectations, helpless and parasitic. Of course she was spoiled--used to being waited upon a good deal, and with rather a good opinion of herself. One could see that. On the other hand, it did not seem to go very deep; seemed, rather, the sort of thing that might rub off when it came in contact with life. Even the rich sometimes came into contact with life, he reflected, with a feeling of satisfaction. They dodged a good many rough knocks that the poor couldn't dodge, but something usually came along to even up the score, if nothing else--the old boy with the scythe. "Mr. Scott, when are you going to take me over to see Casa Grande?" said the object of his meditations, suddenly. "Me?" Scott turned on her in well simulated surprise. "Thought you didn't want to go last time we talked about it." "Well," Polly blushed, "I've changed my mind. I want to meet the celebrity." "Who? Victor Herrick? I don't think you'll care much for him if you go over there looking for a celebrity. He's not that kind." "I don't understand."