"Doctor," said Anne, in her most formal manner. "You're antique. Why don't you say something bright?"
"I do, every time I call you Anne. I really must go in and brush up a bit, as you suggest. You'll excuse me, I'm sure."
"Yes, indeed,—almost with pleasure. And, Doctor, don't wear your fountain-pen in your white vest pocket. You're not on duty, now."
In the shadows of the mountain evening they congregated on the veranda and chatted about the East, the West, and incidentally about the proposed picnic they were to enjoy a few days later, when "boots and saddles" would be the order of the day. "And the trails are not bad, Anne," said Louise. "When you get used to them, you'll forget all about them, but your pony won't. He'll be just as deliberate and anxious about your safety, and his, at the end of the week as he was at the beginning."
"Imagine! A week of riding about these mountains! How Billy would have enjoyed it, Doctor."
"Yes. But I believe he is having a pretty good time where he is."
"We wish he could be here, Anne," said Louise. "I've never met your brother. He's always been away when I have been East."
"Which has been his misfortune," said Dr. Marshall.
"He writes such beautiful letters about the desert and his mining claim,—that's his latest fad,—and says he's much stronger. But I believe they all say that—when they have his trouble, you know."
"From Billy's last letter, I should say he was in pretty fair shape," said the doctor. "He's living outdoors and at a good altitude, somewhere on the desert. He's making money. He posts his letters at a town called 'Dagget,' in this State."