sordid existence had vanished.

"What little things go to make up the big pleasures of life! Who could
guess, for instance, that the simple deceit of presenting a twenty-
dollar piece in payment of a fifty-cent meal check had held for Harley
P. a greater joy than the promise of ultimate salvation? Yet it had;
for during the slight wait at the pay counter while the cashier counted
out his change he had been privileged to view her at close quarters, to
mark the contour of her nose, to note the winning sweetness of her
tender mouth, to hearken to the music of her low voice counting out the
dollars, and, perchance, saying something commonplace himself as he
gathered up his change! Yet that had been sufficient to make of San
Pasqual a paradise for Harley P. He knew his limitations; he had
presumed but once, long enough to ask the cashier to marry him. Her
refusal had made him worship her the more, only he worshiped thereafter
in silence and from afar. She had not laughed at him nor scorned him
nor upbraided him, lowly worm that he was, for daring to hope that he
might be good enough for her! No. She had told him about her husband,
who had gone prospecting and never returned; of Sam Singer who had been
rescued on the desert when close to death, of his return with a wild
story of much gold and a man, whose name he did not know, who had
killed her husband and escaped with the gold. She respected Mr.
Hennage, she admired him, she knew he was good and kind--and she did
not refer to his method of making a living. She merely laid her soft
hand on his, as he reached for his nineteen dollars and a half change,
and said:

"Do you understand, Harley?"

Yes, she had called him Harley that day, and he had understood. Her