esn't,
we have no more idea what becomes of them than of an ant that butts in
on a procession of other ants. Ever watch ants?"

It was Gwynne's turn to snort.

"I take my boy up on the hills every Sunday afternoon when it is fine,
and we watch ants and grasshoppers and birds and all the rest of it. Why
don't you get married? There's nothing like it. I may have some hard
hoeing ahead of me, but I always have that cosy pretty home at the end
of the day, and the sweetest wife in the world--who doesn't know the
Republican party from the Democrat, and never opens a newspaper. Isabel
is too high and mighty. She's a wonderful girl all right, but the last
woman I'd want for a wife. I know a girl that would just suit you--Dolly
Boutts. She's as pretty as a peach, and as domestic as Anabel. I'll have
you both in to supper, as soon as we get a new cook. We've had four this
month, and my wife warned me I was not to ask you to anything until she
was perfectly satisfied. She's the best housekeeper you ever saw."

Gwynne maintained an infuriated silence. It was some moments before he
could trust himself to articulate. Colton, munching his apple, and
twirling the long spiral of skin he had peeled off without a break,
detected nothing unusual in the atmosphere. It was characteristic of him
that he took no interest in his new friend's future. Isabel had told him
that Gwynne had not sufficient income to maintain his rank in England,
and had resolved not only to drop his titles, but the name by which he
had so long been known; being averse from notoriety. Colton, who had
barely recalled the name of Elton Gwynne--he usually skipped the
telegrams unless a war with picturesque details monopolized the foreign
columns--had been somewhat amused at the precaution, but respected it;
he would never have thought of betraying a confidence reposed in the
bank. He assumed that Gwynne intended to become a rancher, like so many
other Englishmen, and that he purposed reading law merely as a secondary
occupation. He could have thought of several more interesting methods of
putting in time; but every one to his taste.

Gwynne spoke finally, and when he did, Colton, whose chair was still
tipped against the wall, sat forward with a square planting of his feet.

"I came to California with one intention only," said Gwynne: "to have
the political career that my elevation to the peerage deprived me of in
England. I had intended to work with the Democratic par