Presently Lorry rose and strode across the street to the station. He talked with the agent, who showed him a telegraph duplicate for an order on Albuquerque covering a steering-knuckle for an automobile. When Lorry reappeared he was whistling. It would take some time for that steering-knuckle to arrive. Meanwhile, he was out of work, and the Westons would be at the hotel for several days at least.
There was some mighty fine scenery back in the Horseshoe Range, west. Perhaps the girl liked Western scenery. He wondered if she knew how to ride. He was rather inclined to think that her mother did not. He would suggest a trip to the Horseshoe Mountains, as it would be pretty dull at the hotel. Nothing but cowboys and Indians riding in and out of town. But there were some Hopi ruins over in the Horseshoe. Most Easterners were interested in ruins. He wished that the Hopis had left a ruin somewhat nearer town.
Yet withal, Lorry was proud to think that his father could be so interesting to real Easterners. If they only knew who his father was! Lorry's train of thought was making pretty good time when he checked it suddenly. Folks in town didn't know that Waring was his father. And "The whole dog-gone day had just been one gosh-awful mess!"
"Weston, you said?" Waring queried.
"Yes—John Archibald Weston, of New York." And Mrs. Weston nodded.
Waring smiled. J.A. Weston was one of the stockholders in the Ortez
Mine, near Sonora.
"The principal stockholder," said Mrs. Weston.
"I met him down there," said Waring.
"Indeed! How interesting! You were connected with the mining industry,
Mr. Waring?"
"In a way. I lived in Sonora several years."