In answer Dan Anderson began to kick together the embers of the fire and to busy himself with dishes. He was resolved to humiliate himself before this girl, to show her how absolutely unfit was the life of this land for such as herself. Suddenly he stopped and listened, as there came to his ear the distant thin report of a rifle. Ellsworth looked inquiringly at his host. "That's my friend, Tom Osby," explained Dan Anderson, "He went out after a deer. Tom and I came down together from the town." "I presume you do have some sort of friends in here," began Barkley, patronizingly. "I have never found any in the world worth having except here," replied Dan Anderson, quietly. "Oh, now, don't say that. Mr. Ellsworth tells me that he has known you for a long time, and has the greatest admiration for you as a lawyer." "Yes, Mr. Ellsworth is very fond of me. He's one of the most passionate admirers I ever had in my life," said Dan Anderson. Barkley looked at him again keenly, realizing that he had to do with a quantity not yet wholly known and gauged. Socially the situation was strained, and he sought to ease it after his own fashion. "You see," he resumed, "Mr. Ellsworth seems to think that he can put you in a way of doing something for yourself up at Heart's Desire." It was an ugly thing for him to do under the circumstances, but if he had intended to humiliate the other, he met his just rebuke. "I don't often talk business at breakfast in my own house," said Dan Anderson. "Do you use tabasco with your _frijoles_?" "Oh, we'll get together, we'll get together," Barkley laughed, with an assumed cordiality which did not quite ring true. "Thank you," Dan Anderson remarked curtly; "you bring me joy this morning." He did not relish this sort of talk in the presence of Constance Ellsworth. Disgusted with himself and with all things, be arose and made a pretence of searching in the wagon. Rummaging about, his hand struck one of the round, gutta-percha plates which had accompanied the phonograph. With silent vigor he cast it far above the tree tops below him on the mountain side. "That," he explained to Constance as he turned, "is the 'Annie Laurie' record of the Heart's Desire grand opera. The season is now over." The girl did not understand, but he lost the hurt look in her eyes. Irritated, he did not hear her soul call out to him. "It's the luckiest thing in the world that you happen to be here." Mr. Ellsworth took up again the idea that was foremost in his mind. "You fit in like the wheels in a clock. We're going to run our railroad up into your town--I don't mind saying that right here--and we're going to give you plenty of law business, Mr. Anderson; that is to say, if you want it, and will take it."