"And Indians," said Henrietta, "hiding back of the nearest hillock, creeping up on you unawares." Billy glanced behind her at the woods and wished they had chosen a more open place to dine. "Yes," agreed the general cheerfully, "or down in some southern swamp, with the Johnny Rebs stealing through the bushes." "Oh, please," begged Billy. "What’s the use of telling about things creeping up on you?" And she glanced again at the bit of wood she could see in the light of the lamps. Far in the west the moon was sinking and here and there a star twinkled between the rolling clouds. A thunder-head was now and then revealed distinctly by flashes of distant lightning, and thunder rumbled ominously in the sultry night. A whippoorwill called steadily and once a bat on graceful wing flew by in the eery light. The general laughed. "That was living in those days, Billy," he said. "A man was a man and not an office automaton, a dimes saving bank." *CHAPTER XIV* *BILLY, BILLY EVERYWHERE* Bartlett nodded. He had been watching Henrietta through half-lazy, half-closed lids, leaning against a fallen log. Somehow out there in the coolness and sweetness of the summer night, in the open country, with only the drumming of the insects and the shrill clamor of frogs to break the silence, nothing seemed to matter, to be worth struggling for. He felt that he hardly cared what was happening in his absence, back there in the hot, crowded, dirty city. A few more millions added to the useless many he already owned, what did it matter? What amount could buy the night, the peace and sweetness and content? He glanced at the Watermelon and felt no triumph in the thought that this was Wednesday and so far not a paper had been received, not a letter sent to spoil his plans. He wondered lazily that he had gone to the bother of planning the small, petty intrigue of the small, petty city, like dogs snarling over a worm-eaten bone. How trivial it all was! "You’re right, General," said he, watching the play of Henrietta’s thin white hands in the lamp light, as she and Billy arranged the evening meal. "A man’s not a man in the city—nothing but a dirty, money-grubbing proposition. Dollars and cents, dollars and cents, the only reason of his being." "I know," agreed Henrietta, nodding. "I sometimes wonder why it was so arranged—the world, you know. Why couldn’t love, courage, honor have been made the medium of exchange, the most vital necessity of life? Every one has to have money, so every one has to struggle for it. Why couldn’t things have been started differently?" "Potatoes, two kisses a peck," suggested the Watermelon. "Three," said Bartlett, "if the purchaser is young and pretty. A smile would be enough, if she were old and wrinkled and unwed." "A motor-car would probably necessitate a wedding," said the general. "No, no, no," protested Henrietta. "How silly! You don’t understand me at all."