"I shouldn't think you'd like that," said Bob.
"Like what?"
"Why, it sort of puts you in a hole, doesn't it? Lays all the blame on you."
She laughed in frank amusement.
"What of it?" she challenged.
"Any letters?" Thorne asked abruptly. "Morton brought mail this morning, didn't he?"
"Nothing wildly important—except that they're thinking of adopting a ranger uniform."
"A uniform!" snorted California John, rearing his old head.
"Oh, yes, I've heard of that," put in Thorne instantly. "It's to be a white pith helmet with a green silk scarf on it; red coat with gold lace, and white, English riding breeches with leather leggins. Don't you think old John would look sweet in that?" he asked Bob.
But the old man refused to be drawn out.