THE SONG OF THE LARK
quickens to meet the dry cold. Under the general keying-up of the altitude, manners take on a heartiness, a vivacity, that is one expression of the half-unconscious excitement which Colorado people miss when they drop into lower strata of air. The heart, we are told, wears out early in that high atmosphere, but while it pumps it sends out no sluggish stream. Our two friends stood gripping each other by the hand and smiling.
"When did you get in, Fred? And what have you come for?" Archie gave him a quizzical glance.
"I 've come to find out what you think you 're doing out here," the younger man declared emphatically. "I want to get next, I do. When can you see me?"
"Anything on to-night? Then suppose you dine with me. Where can I pick you up at five-thirty?"
"Bixby's office, general freight agent of the Burlington." Ottenburg began to button his overcoat and drew on his gloves. "I 've got to have one shot at you before I go, Archie. Did n't I tell you Pinky Alden was a cheap squirt?"
Alden's backer laughed and shook his head. "Oh, he 's worse than that, Fred. It is n't polite to mention what he is, outside of the Arabian Nights. I guessed you 'd come to rub it into me."
Ottenburg paused, his hand on the doorknob, his high color challenging the doctor's calm. "I 'm disgusted with you, Archie, for training with such a pup. A man of your experience!"
"Well, he 's been an experience," Archie muttered. "I 'm not coy about admitting it, am I?"
Ottenburg flung open the door. "Small credit to you. Even the women are out for capital and corruption, I hear. Your Governor 's done more for the United Breweries in six months than I 've been able to do in six years. He 's the lily-livered sort we 're looking for. Good-morning."
That afternoon at five o clock Dr. Archie emerged from the State House after his talk with Governor Alden, and
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