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—[Dully.] You found—you’d lost everything?

—[Sitting down again.] Practically. [He takes a cigar from his pocket, bites the end off, and lights it.] Oh, I don’t mean I’m dead broke. I’ve saved ten thousand from the wreckage, maybe twenty. But that’s a poor showing for five years’ hard work. That’s why I’ll have to go back. [Confidently.] I can make it up in a year or so down there—and I don’t need but a shoestring to start with. [A weary expression comes over his face and he sighs heavily.] I wish I didn’t have to. I’m sick of it all. And I’d made so many plans about converting this place into a real home for all of us, and a working proposition that’d pay big at the same time. [With another sigh.] It’ll have to wait.

—It’s too bad—things seem to go wrong so.

—[Shaking off his depression—briskly.] They might be much worse. There’s enough left to fix the farm O. K. before I go. I won’t leave ’til Rob’s on his feet again. In the meantime I’ll make things fly around here. [With satisfaction.] I need a rest, and the kind of rest I need is hard work in the open—just like I used to do in the old days. I’ll organize things on a working basis and get a real man to carry out my plans while I’m away—what I intended to do the last time. [Stopping abruptly and lowering his voice cautiously.] Not a word to Rob about my losing money! Remember that, Ruth! You