"Do they interest you?" she questioned.
"Very much."
"Why?" Jerry was killing something—time, or thought.
"Because, as I told you the other day, the same life problems come to all grades. And life problems are always interesting," York declared.
"Has Thelma Ekblad a blowout farm, too?" Jerry's face was serious, but her eyes betrayed her mood.
"Better a blowout farm than a blowout soul," York thought. "No. I wonder what she would do with it if she had," he said, aloud.
"Just what I am doing, no doubt, since all of us, 'Colonel's lady and Judy O'Grady,' are alike. Tell me more about her," Jerry demanded.
"She's talking against time now, I know, but I'll tell her a few things," York concluded.
"Jerry, there are not many women like this Norwegian farmer girl who is working her way through the State University down at Lawrence. A few years ago her brother Paul was in love with a girl up the Sage Brush, the daughter of a prosperous, stupid, stingy old ranchman. Paul was chewed up in a mowing-machine one day when the horses got scared and ran away, but his girl was true to him in spite of her father's objections to him. Then came a woman—a sharp-tongued gossip (she's over yonder now by the side gate)—who managed to stir up trouble purely for the infernal joy of gossip, I suppose, between this girl and Thelma. I needn't go into detail; you probably do not care much for the general outline."
"Go on," Jerry commanded.