"He seems firm on all fours," the girl agreed. "How do we travel, and
when?"

"Better take a democrat, I guess," her father said. "We can throw in
a tent and some bedding for you, as we'll maybe stay over a couple of
nights."

"The blue sky is tent enough for me," Zen protested, "and I can surely
rustle a blanket or two around the camp. Besides, I'll want a riding
horse to get around with there."

"You can run him beside the democrat," said her father. "You're gettin'
too big to go campin' promisc'us like when you was a kid."

"That's the penalty for growing up," Zen sighed. "All right, Dad. Say
two o'clock?"

The girl spent the morning helping her mother about the house, and
casting over in her mind the probable developments of the near future.
She would not have confessed outwardly to even a casual interest in
Transley, but inwardly she admitted that the promise of another meeting
with him gave zest to the prospect. Transley was interesting. At least
he was out of the commonplace. His bold directness had rather fascinated
her. He had a will. Her father had always admired men with a will, and
Zen shared his admiration. Then there was Linder. The fierce light of
Transley's charms did not blind her to the glow of quiet capability
which she saw in Linder. If one were looking for a husband, Linder had
much to recommend him. He was probably less capable than Transley, but
he would be easier to manage.... But who was looking for a husband? Not
Zen. No, no, certainly not Zen.