Ryder, watching her, saw many approving glances from other diners, too, and smiled. He was thinking how she would shine--this jewel of a woman he had married!--when she had time to find some real "bridey" finery. She looked like a little brown thrush now; she would look like a bird of paradise when he had given her _carte blanche_ at a Fifth Avenue modiste's. He allowed her to go upstairs alone after dinner while he strolled into the office for some cigars. Several of the men he had seen at the tables were grouped there talking earnestly, and as Ryder stood at the cigar counter he overheard loud voices from the private office of the manager at the rear of the stand. A man near by was saying: "I tell you the bridge has sunk in the middle--it's impassable. All that held the wabbly old thing together were the flooring planks. This town is as far behind the times as any yap hamlet I ever saw. Why, we're actually stuck here till they build a new bridge! Can't get a machine over it, or through the tide-water; and the railroad bridges are nothing but skeletons, you very well know." "What about going over to Bearsburg----" "Nothing doing! The roads behind this hotel are the worst in the world. The main road is impassable for autos because of the work being done on it. It will be a good road some time next spring. As for the other highways, they are merely lanes and farm paths." "Guess you are marooned here, then, Carey," chuckled another. "Might as well make up your mind to it. Come on! let's see if we can't get up a game and murder a little time." At that moment the door of the manager's office opened and the clerk come out. He had a worried expression of countenance. Now, hotel clerks are supposed to be urbane at all times. Flood or fire should not alarm the well-trained hotel clerk. Ryder looked quickly into the inner room. He saw the rather fleshy, white-waistcoated manager--a man of evident choleric temper. He was talking loudly with a plainly dressed man who had a paper in his hand, which he was evidently insisting that the manager accept. "You must accept this service, Mr. Bangs," the smaller man interrupted, the manager stopping his sputtering long enough to catch his breath. "It is not my fault, and personalities make no difference. I am merely a court officer. This is returnable next Monday. Shall I read you the original paper?" Bangs seized the paper offered him and swore largely. "You get out of here!" he roared. "I'll fix Giddings for this trick. Dispossess me, will he? I'll show him! I'll--I'll ruin his old hotel for him!" Ryder walked away with his cigars. Other people's trouble did not stick in his mind now. Broken bridges and impassable roads did not disturb him in the least; nor was he worried by the manager's difficulties. He had come here for at least two peaceful, delightful weeks--and he was going to get them.