"It was so father could manure his apricots," chanted Daphne, "and Dolman told me to do it that way and"
"Heaven has cursed me with an imbecile godchild!" lamented the Colonel.
They talked it out, while the sun descended to gild the edge of the mountains; and Kenneth chafed and waited; and Brainerd, who was now fully in the current of events, wisely restrained him from going after Daphne and bodily ravishing her away.
"She is as eager to get back as you are to have her," warned Brainerd. "This is the crucial time. The whole success of the scheme depends on it." At last at about half past five he departed. He had himself arranged a trip to Los Angeles, and he must go to catch the train. There seemed to him considerable humour in the situation: he was marrying off his daughter, and then himself going on the wedding trip! Well, they were needed at home; and he was not; and they ought to have the Bungalow to themselves.
"What I advise you to do," he told Kenneth, "is to get busy and show how much of a cook you are," with which parting advice he drove away, leaving the young man to follow his suggestion.
Down at Corona del Monte the Colonel and Daphne came to an understanding of all the details on both sides. The old man seemed to have straightened and thrown off the burden of years. He became almost buoyant in talking of the future. Ken and I will do this: Ken and I will do that, was the burden of his song. The old vanished engaging enthusiasm that had been his returned to him. At one point he checked himself:
"There is one thing I want understood—no, I want it promised," he said earnestly. "As long as I am with you we will try to keep the old ranch as it is. But when I am gone: when it is completely yours and Ken's, I don't want any pious sentiment about it. I want it divided and sold, or developed in any way that seems best. Don't think I am such an old fool as I seem: I know we're old fogeys, the ranch and I. You must promise this!"
After a time it became dusk: and the Colonel started up with an exclamation.
