For some time the man gazed about him interestedly. Then, as they lost themselves among the wooden frame dwelling-houses, he breathed a deep sigh of content and drew out one of those extravagant cigars which Gordon had not tasted for so many weeks.
"Say, will smoke worry you any, young lady?" he inquired kindly.
Hazel was thankful for the opportunity of a cordial reply.
"Why, no," she cried. Then on the impulse she went on, "I just love the smell of smoke where men are." She laughed merrily. "I guess men without smoke makes you feel they're sick in body or conscience."
Gordon's father laughed in his quiet fashion as he lit his cigar.
"That way I guess folks of the Anti-Tobacco League need to start right in and build hospitals for themselves."
The girl nodded.
"Anti-Tobacco?" she said. "Why, 'anti' anything wholesomely human must be a terrible sick crowd. I'd hate to trust them with my pocket-book, and, goodness knows, there's only about ten cents in it. Even that would be a temptation to such folks."
Again came the millionaire's quiet laugh.
"That's the result of the healthy life you folks live right out here in the open sunshine," he said, noting the pretty tanning of the girl's face. "I don't guess it's any real sign of health, mentally or physically, when folks have to start 'anti' societies, eh?"