Eveley was fairly quivering with excitement and delight. Her faith in herself had gone leaping skyward. She was not a slacker, not a quitter. She was a regular American after all, making a real sacrifice for a principle she believed in,--and oh, how she was going to assimilate this pretty little Mexican! Poor child! Of course she was shattered and stunned and shocked. Who wouldn't be? Things must have been ghastly in Mexico. Eveley herself was rather vague on the subject, because her philosophy was one of peace and joy, and she found that reading of affairs in Mexico did not tend to increase either peace or joy. But she was dimly aware that the spirit of unrest prevailing in all the world had risen to open and bloody warfare across the Rio Grande. Her work suffered very sadly that afternoon, and long before the appointed hour she was ringing furiously for the elevator. From her incoherent chatter on the way down, Angelo gathered that he was literally to fly to her the very minute he was off duty, and then she was clambering blindly into the car and rushing around for Mr. Hiltze. She was quite in an ecstasy as they set about moving out the pieces of furniture to be stored in the back of the big garage, and fitting up an attractive home for the wounded little Mexican who was to be her guest,--and her food for assimilation. Amos Hiltze was a great help, and worked with enthusiasm. "I do what I can, but men are helpless when it comes to women. And when I knew of this child,--well, I thought of you. If you refused, I had no notion where to turn. But you did not refuse." "No, indeed," chirped Eveley. "I am only too happy. I want to do things, real things, and be of use. It--it is right, I suppose, and lots of fun besides." At six o'clock Angelo came, and looked for a moment with speculative eyes upon Mr. Hiltze. He was not enthusiastic,--rather he was frankly pessimistic. "Why don't you send her to a hotel?" he demanded aggressively. "You don't want a dirty Greaser in here, messing things all up." "Oh, Angelo, you mustn't," protested Eveley, deeply shocked. "She isn't a Greaser. She is a high caste Mexican girl." "There ain't no such thing," he said gloomily. "You'll see. She'll litter the whole place up with a lot of smelly bandits, and they'll cut your throat, and steal your money, and then where'll you be?" Then Amos Hiltze turned on him, with something compelling in his eyes. "Cut out that nonsense, and mind your own business. This is not your affair."