Carleton recovered a little from his astonishment. The grip he gave Vaughan’s hand was sufficient answer, even before he found his tongue. “Pleased,” he echoed, “of course I am. I couldn’t be more so. You know that without my saying it. But more than surprised, Arthur. I didn’t know you were even interested in that direction. I can’t realize it yet. Rose! Why, she hadn’t put away her dolls when I left home. But three years. Let’s see. Thirteen—fourteen—seventeen—that’s right, she’s almost eighteen, now. A child and a woman—I suppose that’s the size of it. Well, well, Arthur, this is fine. And she’s a splendid little girl, too. You’re a lucky man. Any idea when you’ll be married?”
Vaughan shook his head. “No, indeed,” he answered, “I only wish I had. You see it’s just as I told you. I’m a poor man, and I’ve got to make good first, before I can decently ask her to leave a home like the one she’s got now. Mr. Carleton put all that part of it to me plainly enough yesterday. Plainly enough, and fairly enough, too. I have to admit that. But I can’t help wishing, just the same, for once in my life, that I did have a little money to fall back on, or that my prospects were a little brighter. However, I surely can’t complain; and now, Jack, it’s your turn. How about yourself, and how about the ranching? Is it all you thought it would be?”
But Carleton did not seem disposed to talk of himself. “Oh, yes,” he answered absently, “all that, and more. It’s the greatest ever—” then, breaking off abruptly, he asked, “Do you know, Arthur, when Colonel Graham’s expected back from England?”
Vaughan looked at him with a smile. “Colonel Graham?” he said, “did you say Colonel, Jack?”
Carleton nodded. “That’s what I said,” he answered, “Colonel Graham. You know I used to be pretty good friends with him once on a time.”
Vaughan’s smile broadened. “Yes, I know,” he answered dryly, “and you used to be very good friends with some one else. Are you sure it isn’t Marjory you mean, Jack, and not the colonel?”
At last Carleton smiled too. “Well,” he returned, “I won’t argue about it. You can put it that way if you like. When do they get back?”
“Three months, I believe,” answered Vaughan, “I think that was what Rose said.” He paused, then added with sympathy, “Sounds like a long time, too, I’ll bet.”
Carleton made no answer. Slackening speed, the train came to a halt, and rising, they filed down the aisle, and out on the Eversley platform, to find Henry Carleton and Cummings awaiting them. Somewhat perfunctorily Jack Carleton shook hands with Cummings; then turned to his uncle. “Wait for me just a minute,” he said, “I’ve got a bag here somewhere,” and he strode off into the station, while the others turned the corner, and took their places in Carleton’s waiting motor, Cummings and Vaughan ushered by their host into the tonneau, while he himself took his seat in front with the chauffeur, a short, thick-set young fellow, with a round, pleasant face, honest eyes, and a frank and good-humored smile. He touched his cap, and Henry Carleton nodded in return. “Everything all right, Satterlee?” he asked, and the chauffeur quickly responded, “Yes, sir; everything all right, sir;”—then, very respectfully, as if he realized that his interest was leading him into a breach of strict decorum, “Isn’t Mr. Jack coming, sir?”
“Oh, yes, he’ll be here in a moment,” answered his employer, and even as he spoke, Carleton appeared around the corner of the station, tossed his bag into the tonneau, and came up to the front of the machine with outstretched hand. “Well, Tom, old man,” he cried, “and how are you? Looking fine. You couldn’t drive anything but horses when I went away. How do you like this kind of thing? More speed, I guess, all right.”