it's the only subject I ever knew him to get real gabby over.
And you'd never guess from his looks what it was. Farmin'!

Course he ain't doin' the reg'lar Rube kind,--hay and hogs, hogs and
hay. He goes at it scientific,--one of these book farmers, you
understand. Establishin' model farms is his fad. Dudley told me all
about it once,--intensive cultivation, soil doctorin', harvestin'
efficiency, all such dope, with a cost-bearin' side line to fall back on
in the winter.

Not that he needs the money, but he says he wants to keep busy and make
himself useful. So his scheme is to buy up farms here and there, take
each one in turn, put it on a payin' basis by studyin' the best stuff to
raise and gettin' wise to the market, and then showin' his neighbors how
to turn the trick too. No rollin' out at four A.M. to milk the cows for
Dudley! He hires a good crew at topnotch wages, and puts in his time
plannin' irrigatin' ditches, experimentin' with fertilizers, doin' the
seed testin', and readin' government reports; even has a farm
bookkeeper.

[Illustration: Blamed if Dudley don't have the nerve to tow Veronica
into the next room, stretchin' on tiptoe to talk in her ear.]

Then when cold weather comes, instead of turnin' off his help, he
springs his side line,--maybe workin' up the wood lot into shippin'
crates, or developin' a stone quarry. Last I heard he was settin' out
willows he'd imported from Holland, and was growin' and makin' fancy
veranda furniture. He's rung in a whole town on the deal, and they was
all gettin' a good thing out of it. Establishing community industries,
is the way Dudley puts it. Says every jay burg ought to have one of its
own.

Most likely this was what he was so busy explainin' to Veronica. He's a
good talker when he gets started too, and for such a quiet appearin'
chap he can liven up a lot. Must have been goin' into the details deep
with her; for they don't come back--and they don't come back. I'd read
the evenin' papers, and poked up the log fire half a dozen times, and
stood around watchin' the bridge game until I nearly yawned my head off;
but they're still missin'.

I'd just strolled around into the front hall, kind of scoutin' to see if
he'd talked her to sleep, or whether she'd come back at him with some
brainy fad of her own and was givin' him the chilly spine, when out
through the door dashes Dudley Byron, runnin' his fingers through his
hair desperate and glarin' around wild.