eye fell upon the ampleness of
the feast--amazing, since it purported to have been put up for one
alone; and her face lit up with mischievous delight. She curtsied. "If
you please, I'm the Ultimate Consumer!"

He rose, bowing gravely.

"I am the Personal Devil. Glad to meet you."

"Oh! I've heard of you!" remarked the Ultimate Consumer sweetly. She sat
down and extended her hand across the spotless linen. "Mr. Lake
says----"

The Personal Devil flushed. It was not because of the proffered hand,
which he took unhesitatingly and held rather firmly. The blush was
unmistakably caused by anger.

"There is no connection whatever," he stated, grimly enough, "between
the truth and Mr. Lake's organs of speech."

"Oh!" cried the Ultimate Consumer triumphantly. "So you're Mr. Beebe?"

"Bransford--Jeff Bransford," corrected the Personal Devil crustily. He
wilfully relapsed to his former slipshod speech. "Beebe, he's gone to
the Pecos work, him and Ballinger. Mr. John Wesley Also-Ran Pringle's
gone to Old Mexico to bring back another bunch of black, long-horned
Chihuahuas. You now behold before you the last remaining Rose of
Rosebud. But, why Beebe?"

"Why does Mr. Lake hate all of you so, Mr. Bransford?"

"Because we are infamous scoundrels. Why Beebe?"

"I can't eat with one hand, Mr. Bransford," she said demurely. He looked
at the prisoned hand with a start and released it grudgingly. "Help
yourself," said his hostess cheerfully. "There's sandwiches, and roast
beef and olives, for a mild beginning."

"Why Beebe?" he said doggedly.

"Help yourself to the salad and then please pass it over this way. Thank
you."

"Why Beebe?"

"Oh, very well then! Because of the little eohippus, you know--and other
things you said."

"I see!" said the aggrieved Bransford. "Because I'm not from Ohio, like
Beebe, I'm not supposed----"

"Oh, if you're going to be fussy! I'm from California myself, Mr.
Bransford. Out in the country at that. Don't let's quarrel, please. We
were having such a lovely time. And I'll tell you a secret. It's
ungrateful of me, and I ought not to; but I don't care--I don't like Mr.
Lake much since we came on this trip. And I don't believe----" She
paused, pinkly conscious of the unconventional statement involved in
this sudden unbelief.

"----what Lake says about us?" A much-mollified Bransford finished the
sentence for her.

She nodded. Then, to change the subject:

"You do speak cowboy talk one minu