"
Octavia sought Teddy, with battle in her eye.
"What are you working on this ranch for?" she asked once more.
"One hundred--" he began to repeat, but saw in her face that she
knew. She held Mr. Bannister's letter in her hand. He knew that the
game was up.
"It's my ranch," said Teddy, like a schoolboy detected in evil. "It's
a mighty poor manager that isn't able to absorb the boss's business if
you give him time."
"Why were you working down here?" pursued Octavia still struggling
after the key to the riddle of Teddy.
"To tell the truth, 'Tave," said Teddy, with quiet candour, "it wasn't
for the salary. That about kept me in cigars and sunburn lotions. I
was sent south by my doctor. 'Twas that right lung that was going to
the bad on account of over-exercise and strain at polo and gymnastics.
I needed climate and ozone and rest and things of that sort."
In an instant Octavia was close against the vicinity of the affected
organ. Mr. Bannister's letter fluttered to the floor.
"It's--it's well now, isn't it, Teddy?"
"Sound as a mesquite chunk. I deceived you in one thing. I paid fifty
thousand for your ranch as soon as I found you had no title. I had
just about that much income accumulated at my banker's while I've been
herding sheep down here, so it was almost like picking the thing up on
a bargain-counter for a penny.
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