"You're a humbug," retorted Mr. Merrick. "You wouldn't go by train if
I'd let you."
"No," admitted the Major; "I must be on hand to rescue you when you and Patsy go fighting windmills."
CHAPTER III
MYRTLE DEAN
"We were due in Denver three hours ago, and it's an hour's run or more yet," remarked Beth De Graf, walking briskly up and down the platform of a way station where the train had stopped for orders.
"And it's beginning to snow," observed Patricia Doyle, beside her. "I'm afraid this weather isn't very propitious for an automobile trip."
"Uncle John doesn't worry," said Beth. "He believes there is perpetual sunshine west of Denver."
"Yes; a man named Haggerty told him. But you'll notice that Daddy doesn't seem to believe the tale. Anyhow, we shall soon know the truth, Beth, and the trip is somewhat on the order of a voyage of discovery, which renders it fascinating to look forward to. There is such fun in not knowing just what is going to happen next."
"When one travels with Uncle John," returned Beth, smiling, "she knows exactly—nothing. That is why I am always eager to accept if he invites me to go anywhere with him."
The passengers thronging the platform—"stretching their legs" after the confinement of the tedious railway journey—eyed these two girls admiringly. Beth was admitted a beauty, and one of the society journals had lately announced that she had few peers in all the great metropolis. Chestnut brown hair; dark, serious and steady eyes; an exquisite complexion and rarely regular features all conspired to render the young girl wonderfully attractive. Her stride was athletic, free and graceful; her slender form well poised and dignified. Patsy, the "plug-ugly," as she called herself, was so bright and animated and her blue eyes sparkled so constantly with fun and good humor, that she attracted fully as much attention as her more sedate and more beautiful cousin, and wherever she went was sure to make a host of friends.