With these things completed Cowperwood took the train back to Philadelphia.
“Aileen,” he said, when these two met again—she had come to the train to meet him—“I think the West is the answer for us. I went up to Fargo and looked around up there, but I don’t believe we want to go that far. There’s nothing but prairie-grass and Indians out in that country. How’d you like to live in a board shanty, Aileen,” he asked, banteringly, “with nothing but fried rattlesnakes and prairie-dogs for breakfast? Do you think you could stand that?”
“Yes,” she replied, gaily, hugging his arm, for they had entered a closed carriage; “I could stand it if you could. I’d go anywhere with you, Frank. I’d get me a nice Indian dress with leather and beads all over it and a feather hat like they wear, and—”
“There you go! Certainly! Pretty clothes first of all in a miner’s shack. That’s the way.”
“You wouldn’t love me long if I didn’t put pretty clothes first,” she replied, spiritedly. “Oh, I’m so glad to get you back!”
“The trouble is,” he went on, “that that country up there isn’t as promising as Chicago. I think we’re destined to live in Chicago. I made an investment in Fargo, and we’ll have to go up there from time to time, but we’ll eventually locate in Chicago. I don’t want to go out there alone again. It isn’t pleasant for me.” He squeezed her hand. “If we can’t arrange this thing at once I’ll just have to introduce you as my wife for the present.”
“You haven’t heard anything more from Mr. Steger?” she put in. She was thinking of Steger’s efforts to get Mrs. Cowperwood to grant him a divorce.
“Not a word.”
“Isn’t it too bad?” she sighed.
“Well, don’t grieve. Things might be worse.”