"Is it Bryan Lee?" demanded John.
"It might be," said Nan reflectively, "and then again, you know, it mightn't."
John was silent; he was no match for Nan when it came to a war of words. He scowled moodily at the shining tumblers.
"Nan, I'm going out west," he said finally.
Nan stared at him with her last tumbler poised in mid-air, very much as if he had announced his intention of going to the North Pole or Equatorial Africa.
"John Osborne, are you crazy?"
"Not quite. And I'm in earnest, I can tell you that."
Nan set the glass down with a decided thud. John's curtness displeased her. He needn't suppose that it made any difference to her if he took it into his stupid head to go to Afghanistan.
"Oh!" she remarked carelessly. "Well, I suppose if you've got the Western fever your case is hopeless. Would it be impertinent to inquire why you are going?"
"There's nothing else for me to do, Nan," said John, "Bryan Lee is going to foreclose the mortgage next month and I'll have to clear out. He says he can't wait any longer. I've worked hard enough and done my best to keep the old place, but it's been uphill work and I'm beaten at last."