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IN THE camp for the construction men Mr. Tim Fraley and Mr. Zed Parrum were talking lightly of a light matter. Mr. Fraley winked.

"Ab Teeftaller showed a better head in his little kick-up than you did, Zed—his gal ain't got no daddy."

Mr. Parrum put little heart into his return wink. His involuntary marriage was a sore point with him.

"Yeh—live an' learn. . . . Have you talked to Ab lately, Tim?"

"Nope, I seen him walking around the camp here pretty offish, figgered he'd got the big head over this sheracketty an' didn't want to talk to a common feller like me."

"You done him wrong," defended Zed at once. "He ain't stuck up, he's worried."

"What's he got to worry about?"

"Tim, he's got the darndest fool idyah I ever heard of."

"What's that?"

"Why, he's figgerin' on marryin' that Sutton gal, after all that's happened."

Mr. Fraley stared, finally blurted out in slow bewilderment, "The—hell—he—is!"

"Yep. I tried to persuade him out of it, but you know that damn fool Ditmas is backin' him up in it."

"I thought Ditmas was his frien'."

"I reckon he is a frien' accordin' to his lights, but I shore say, 'Damn his lights.'"

Tim agreed profanely, then assembled his information about the engineer.

"It's like this, Zed. Ditmas is a Yankee, an' you know them Yankees ain't got no sense of honour like we got here