"Yes, but we don't really need it, as you do. We have seas of
land, rolling all over the place. We can get our breath inland;
you have to come to the ocean to get a full breath."
"That's the popular superstition. I mean, that we are cramped and
all that. But, really, I think we all have room enough. I think
the Westerner's idea of wanting several acres to breathe in is
just a habit."
Farnsworth looked at her steadily. "Perhaps you're right," he
said; "at any rate, you seem to know all about it. Do you suppose
I could learn to see it as you do?"
"Of course you could. But why should you? If you like the West,
the big, breezy, long-distance West, there's no reason why you
should cultivate a taste for our little cramped up, stuffy East."
"That's right! But I wish I could show you our country. Wouldn't
you love to go galloping across a great prairie,--tearing ahead
for illimitable miles,--breathing the air that has come, fresh and
clean, straight down from the blue sky?"
"You make it sound well, but after that mad gallop is over, what
then? A shack or ranch, or whatever you call it, with whitewashed
walls, and rush mats and a smoky stove?"
"By George! You're about right! It wouldn't suit YOU, would it?
You couldn't fit into that picture!"
"I'm 'fraid not.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122