ested now. She came
back into the room.

"Ask him about marryin'--you know. I gotter find out because Hardy's
comin'." No speech could have been plainer and balder. "Did you?"

Lucia was nonplussed at the old man's crude directness. "Yes--I mean no. I
don't remember."

"Don't remember!" Uncle Henry yelled. "But that's what I left you here for!
We had it all framed up! Why didn't you?"

Lucia's head drooped a bit. "We were talking about something else."

The crabbed man was inflamed by this reply. "What was you talkin' about
that was so gol darned important that you forgot the only important thing
there was to talk about?... Well?" he cried, when she said nothing. "By
gollies! I remember now! You was the gal he wouldn't ask to marry him
because he didn't have no money!" He did not notice that his nephew had
come back from the other room just in time to hear this last remark. He
went on relentlessly to Lucia: "And me like a poor boob forgettin' all
about it until now!" He suddenly saw Gilbert, and, not a whit abashed,
turned on him. "So that's why you won't marry Hardy's daughter! I see it
all now! I've been as blind as a hoot-owl!"

There came the sound of a Ford stopping outside, and footsteps approached
up the path that led to the adobe.

"It's all right, Lucia," Gilbert said, and she went upstairs, almost
weeping. Then he whirled about and glared at his uncle. "It's a good
thing--no, I don't know what I'm saying. You're an invalid, or I'd strike
you, despite your years, Uncle Henry. For heaven's sake, can't you learn to
mind your own business?"

"I ain't got any. You robbed me of it!" the old man flamed back. "Now I'll
mind yours for a change. Make a monkey out o' me, will you, gol darn you!"

As he was starting for the door, he bumped directly into Jasper Hardy and
his daughter Angela and the ubiquitous "Red." The trio had come over in the
Ford.

Hardy, tall and thin, wore a funereal black coat, despite the heat, and a
somber dark Stetson hat. He must have been fifty or more. His skin looked
bloodless, and his eyes still had that hard, pale look. It was difficult to
trust eyes like those. He ambled, rather than walked, and his lean, lanky
legs would have made him a fortune on the stage. It was difficult to
believe, as everyone always said, that the lovely little Angela, with her
bright black eyes and her rose-red cheeks, was the daughter of this
sinister man. She was as attractive as a rose;--a typical fro