Later, in the dining car, the steward smilingly answered her question:

"This is Kansas, and those green fields out there are the wheat that

feeds the nation."

Carley was not impressed. The color of the short wheat appeared soft and

rich, and the boundless fields stretched away monotonously. She had

not known there was so much flat land in the world, and she imagined it

might be a fine country for automobile roads. When she got back to her

seat she drew the blinds down and read her magazines. Then tiring of

that, she went back to the observation car. Carley was accustomed to

attracting attention, and did not resent it, unless she was annoyed.

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The train evidently had a full complement of passengers, who, as far as

Carley could see, were people not of her station in life. The glare from

the many windows, and the rather crass interest of several men, drove

her back to her own section. There she discovered that some one had

drawn up her window shades. Carley promptly pulled them down and settled

herself comfortably. Then she heard a woman speak, not particularly low:

"I thought people traveled west to see the country." And a man replied,

rather dryly. "Wal, not always." His companion went on: "If that girl

was mine I'd let down her skirt." The man laughed and replied: "Martha,

you're shore behind the times. Look at the pictures in the magazines."

Such remarks amused Carley, and later she took advantage of an

opportunity to notice her neighbors. They appeared a rather quaint

old couple, reminding her of the natives of country towns in the

Adirondacks. She was not amused, however, when another of her woman

neighbors, speaking low, referred to her as a "lunger." Carley

appreciated the fact that she was pale, but she assured herself that

there ended any possible resemblance she might have to a consumptive.

And she was somewhat pleased to hear this woman's male companion

forcibly voice her own convictions. In fact, he was nothing if not

admiring.

Kansas was interminably long to Carley, and she went to sleep before

riding out of it. Next morning she found herself looking out at the

rough gray and black land of New Mexico. She searched the horizon for

mountains, but there did not appear to be any. She received a vague,

slow-dawning impression that was hard to define. She did not like the

country, though that was not the impression which eluded her. Bare gray

flats, low scrub-fringed hills, bleak cliffs, jumble after jumble

of rocks, and occasionally a long vista down a valley, somehow

compelling--these passed before her gaze until she tired of them. Where

was the West Glenn had written about? One thing seemed sure, and it was

that every mile of this crude country brought her nearer to him. This

recurring thought gave Carley all the pleasure she had felt so far in

this endless ride. It struck her that England or France could be dropped

down into New Mexico and scarcely noticed.




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