“We’ll be in Ogden in half an hour,” said Chapman. “We stay there twenty-five minutes. That ought to give your friend a chance to get over whatever ails her. She should get out and walk around and get some air.”
“You seem quite interested in Mildred,” Hazel said.
“She’s a mighty attractive girl,” he replied. “And besides, I feel sorry for anybody that—”
“Men don’t usually find her attractive. She’s pretty in a way, but it’s a kind of a babyish face.”
“I don’t think so at all—”
“We change time here again, don’t we?”
“Yes. Another hour back. We’ve been on Mountain time and now we go to Pacific time. Some people say it’s bad for a watch to turn it backwards, but it never seemed to hurt mine any. This watch—”
“I bought this watch of mine in New York,” said Hazel. “It was about two years ago, the last time Bess Eldridge and I went East. Let’s see; was that before or after she broke her engagement to Harley Bateman? It was before. But Harley said he knew the manager of the Belmont and he would wire him and get us a good room. Well, of course, he forgot to wire, so we finally got into the Pennsylvania, Room 1012. No, Room 1014. It was some people from Pittsburgh, a Mr. and Mrs. Bradbury, in 1012. He was lame. Bess wanted to see Jeanne Eagels in Rain and we tried to get tickets at the newsstand, but they said fifteenth row. We finally went to the Palace that night. Ina Claire was on the bill. So the next morning we came down to breakfast and who should we run into but Dave Homan! We’d met him at French Lick in the spring. Isn’t French Lick wonderful!
“Well, Dave insisted on ‘showing’ us New York, like we didn’t know it backwards. But we did have a dandy time. Dave kept us in hysterics. I remember he took us to the Aquarium and of course a lot of other people were in there and Dave gave one of the attendants a quarter to page Mr. Fish. I thought they’d put us out, we screamed so! Dave asked me to marry him once, just jokingly, and I told him I wouldn’t think of it because I had heard it made people fat to laugh and if I lived with him I would soon have to buy my clothes from a tentmaker. Dave said we would make a great pair as we both have such a keen sense of humor. Honestly, I wouldn’t give up my sense of humor for all the money in the world. I don’t see how people can live without a sense of humor. Mildred, for instance; she never sees the funny side of things unless you make her a diagram and even then she looks at you like she thought you were deranged.
“But I was telling you about Dave Homan. We were talking along about one thing and another and I happened to mention Harley Bateman and Dave said, ‘Harley Bateman! Do you know Harley Bateman?’ and Bess and I smiled at each other and I said I guessed we did. Well, it seems that Dave and Harley had been at Atlantic City together at a Lions’ convention or something and they had some drinks and Dave had a terrible time keeping a policeman from locking Harley up. He’s just as different when he’s drinking as day and night. Dave got him out of it all right and they met again later on, in Chicago. Or was it Duluth? So the next day was Wednesday and Dave asked Bess and I to go to the matinée of Rain, but Bess had an engagement with a dentist—”
“Do you see this?” interrupted Chapman, opening his mouth wide.
“So Dave took me alone and he said he had been hoping for that chance right along. He said three was a crowd. I believe if I had given him any encouragement—But the man I marry must be something more than clever and witty. I like men that have been around and seen things and studied human nature and have a background. Of course they must see the funny side, too. That’s the trouble with Dave Homan—he can’t be serious. Harley Bateman is twice as much of a man if he wouldn’t drink. It’s like two different people when he drinks. He’s terrible! Bess Eldridge was engaged to him, but she broke it off after we happened to see him in Chicago one time with Joan Killian, from Elkhart. Bess is married now, to a man named Wannop, a flour man from Minneapolis. So after the matinée we met Bess. She’d been to the dentist—”
“Three days ago, in Milwaukee—” began Chapman.
“So the next afternoon we were taking the boat for Boston. I’d been to Boston before, of course, but never by boat. Harley Bateman told us it was a dandy trip, so we decided to try it. Well, we left New York at five o’clock and Bess and I were up on deck when somebody came up behind us and put their hands over my eyes and said, ‘Guess who it is?’ Well, I couldn’t have guessed in a hundred years. It was Clint Poole from South Bend. Imagine! Harley Bateman’s brother-in-law!”
“Here’s Ogden,” said Chapman as the train slowed down.
“Oh, and I’ve got to send Sis a telegram! My sister Lucy Kingston.”
“I think I’ll get out and get some air,” said Chapman, but he went first to the car where Mildred sat reading.
“Miss Mildred,” he said, “suppose you have breakfast with me early tomorrow morning. I’d like to show you the snow-sheds.”
“That would be wonderful!” said Mildred. “I’ll tell Hazel.”
“No,” said Chapman. “Please don’t tell
