sembling a French chateau, built of the yellow stone of the country. In
addition to an attractive fence of stone and iron, the extensive yard was
surrounded on all sides by a wind-break hedge of tall and uniform swamp
cedars.

When the car dashed up the asphalt drive, Colonel Howell only turned
toward his host and smiled. But while his elders alighted, under the
porte cochere, Paul did not smile. Waiting for his father and their guest
to disappear into the magnificent home, he sprang into the motor again
and said to the chauffeur: "Drive to the King George Hotel."

At dinner that evening there was a message from young Paul, excusing
himself on the ground of an engagement. When Mr. Zept heard this, he
excused himself to telephone to the garage. When he rejoined his guest,
his face was again stern and hard, for he knew what his son's engagement
meant.

Dinner over, the ranchman and Colonel Howell made their excuses to Mrs.
Zept and to Paul's young sister and retired to the library. Here Mr. Zept
used no ceremony and at once confided to his old friend the greatest
trouble of his life. He told how he had brought his son home from Paris
because of his wayward ways and how he had found these even more
pronounced than he feared.

"He isn't a bad boy," explained his father, "and the only trouble he has
I think I can correct by home influence." He even explained where his son
was at that moment and did not attempt to conceal his mortification. "It
isn't in the blood," he went on, "but it's Paris and the opportunity he
had there."

Colonel Howell had been deeply moved by his friend's talk, and when the
latter used the word "opportunity," his sober face suddenly lit up.

"That's it," he exclaimed, "you've hit it. I think I can read the boy
like a book. 'Opportunity' to go wrong is what did it. I've an idea. Cut
out this 'opportunity' and I think you've solved the question."

"That's what I want to do," replied Mr. Zept, with a sigh, "and I've been
trying to make his home take the place of the saloons, but," and he shook
his head, "you see where he is now."

"All right," exclaimed Colonel Howell. "That doesn't need to discourage
you. I think we'll have to send him where there isn't any Paris and where
there aren't any cafes."

"What do you mean?" broke in the disturbed father.

"I mean up to Fort McMurray, where they'll put a man in jail if they find
a drink of whisky on his person."

Mr. Zept sat upright and darted a