d. It seems that she
looks upon the obnoxious science of eating with less contempt than
before.

"The next morning we find that the flood has subsided. I geared up the
bays, and we splashed out through the mud, some precarious, until we
found the road again. We were only a few miles wrong, and in two hours
we were in Oklahoma City. The first thing we saw was a big restaurant
sign, and we piled into there in a hurry. Here I finds myself sitting
with Mame at table, with knives and forks and plates between us, and
she not scornful, but smiling with starvation and sweetness.

"'Twas a new restaurant and well stocked. I designated a list of
quotations from the bill of fare that made the waiter look out toward
the wagon to see how many more might be coming.

"There we were, and there was the order being served. 'Twas a banquet
for a dozen, but we felt like a dozen. I looked across the table at
Mame and smiled, for I had recollections. Mame was looking at the
table like a boy looks at his first stem-winder. Then she looked at
me, straight in the face, and two big tears came in her eyes. The
waiter was gone after more grub.

"'Jeff,' she says, soft like, 'I've been a foolish girl. I've looked
at things from the wrong side. I never felt this way before. Men get
hungry every day like this, don't they? They're big and strong, and
they do the hard work of the world, and they don't eat just to spite
silly waiter girls in restaurants, do they, Jeff? You said once--that
is, you asked me--you wanted me to--well, Jeff, if you still care--I'd
be glad and willing to have you always sitting across the table from
me. Now give me something to eat, quick, please.'

"So, as I've said, a woman needs to change her point of view now and
then. They get tired of the same old sights--the same old dinner
table, washtub, and sewing machine. Give 'em a touch of the various--a
little travel and a little rest, a little tomfoolery along with the
tragedies of keeping house, a little petting after the blowing-up, a
little upsetting and jostling around--and everybody in the game will
have chips added to their stack by the play."

XI

THE CABALLERO'S WAY

The Cisco Kid had killed six men in more or less fair scrimmages, had
murdered twice as many (mostly Mexicans), and had winged a larger
number whom he modestly forbore to count. Therefore a woman loved him.

The Kid was twenty-five, looked twenty; and a careful insurance
company would hav