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“Ride that thing to California! Why think of the country between here and the coast; look at the desert, look at the Rocky Mountains, to say nothing of the little old Coast Range. What do you think I am, anyhow, a cross between a camel and a mountain goat?”

“I’ll be sure you’re all goat if you butt into my cherished plan in that rude fashion,” I responded gaily. “Never mind. Wait till your shin feels better and you’ve had something to eat and we’ll talk it over.”

I drew the table closer to our tiny stove and set out the meal while Dan prepared for supper.

“You remember my telling you about that poor little couple that I used to see at the Public Library,” I began when we were comfortably settled, “the ones that used to come in about two or three o’clock and go off in a corner somewhere to eat a bit of lunch when the librarian wasn’t looking? She’s been going down very fast for the last few weeks, hasn’t been able to look for work at all, but waited in the library till he came in, half crazy from the continued failure to find anything, and then she’d try to comfort him while they shared the part of a loaf of bread that she’d have hidden beneath her old cape.