Two days after the party at the house, Mr. Hartley made a wonderful announcement at the dinner table.  
"What do you say, young ladies, to a visit to San Antonio?" he began.
 
"Father, could we? Do you mean we can?" cried Genevieve.
 
"Yes, dear, that's just what I mean. It so happens I've got business there, so I'm going to take you home 'round by that way. We'll have maybe a couple of days there, and we'll see something of the surrounding country, besides. You know Texas is quite a state—and you've seen little of it, as yet."
 
"Oh, girls, we'll see the Alamo!" cried Genevieve. "Did you realize that?"
 
"Will we, truly?" chorused several rapturous voices.
 
"Yes."
 
"And what do you know about the Alamo, young ladies?" smiled Mr. Hartley.
 
"We know everything," answered Tilly, cheerfully. "Mr. Jones's daughter, you know, was our Latin teacher, and she had the History class, too. Well, we couldn't even think Bunker Hill but what she'd pipe up about the Alamo. Now I think Bunker Hill is pretty good!"
 
"Oh, but we want to see the Alamo, just the same," interposed Bertha, anxiously.
 
"Of course!" cried five girlish voices.
 
"All right," laughed Mr. Hartley. "You shall see it, all of you—if the train will take us there; and you'll see—well, you'll see a lot of other things, too."
 
Cordelia stirred uneasily. The old anxious look came back to her eyes. When dinner was over she stole to Mr. Hartley's side.
 
"Mr. Hartley, please, shall we see an oil well?" she asked, in a low voice.
 
"Bless you, little lady, what do you know about oil wells?" smiled the man, good-naturedly. "You haven't got any of those to look up, have you?"
 
To his dumbfounded , she answered simply:
 
"Yes, sir—one."
 
"Well, I'll be—well, just what is this proposition?" he broke off whimsically.
 
"If you'll wait—just a minute—I'll get the paper," panted Cordelia. "Mr. Hodges wrote down the name."
 
Very soon she had returned with the paper, and Mr. Hartley saw the name. His face hardened, yet his eyes were tender.
 
"I'm afraid, little girl, that this won't come out quite so well as the Reddy affair—by the way, Reddy left an extra good-by for you this morning. He went away before you were up, you know. He feels pretty grateful to you, Miss Cordelia."
 
"But I didn't do anything, Mr. Hartley. I do wish I could see Mrs. Granger when he gets there, though. I—I'm afraid she doesn't like cowboys much better than Mrs. does."
 
There was a moment's silence. Mr. Hartley was at the bit of paper in his hand.
 
"Did you say you didn't know where that oil well was, Mr. Hartley?" asked Cordelia, timidly.
 
"Yes. I don't know where it is—and I reckon there doesn't anybody else know, either," he answered slowly. "I know where it claims to be, and I know it is just one big swindle from beginning to end."
 
"Oh, I'm so sorry," sighed the girl.
 
"So am I, my dear. I'm sorry for Mr. Hodges, and lots of others that I know lost money in the same thing. But it can't be helped now."
 
"Then there aren't any oil wells here at all in Texas?" asked Cordelia, tearfully.
 
"Bless you, yes, child—heaps of them! You'll see them, too, probably, before you leave the state. But—you won't see this one."
 
"Oh, I'm so sorry," mourned Cordelia, again, as sadly she took the bit of paper back to her room.
 
It was not many days before the Happy Hexagons said good-by to the ranch—a most reluctant good-by. It was a question, however, which felt the worst: Mammy Lindy, weeping on the gallery steps, Mr. Tim and the boys, waving a noisy good-by from their saddles, or Mrs. Kennedy and the Happy Hexagons—the latter tearfully giving their Texas yell with "THE RANCH" for the final word to-day.
 
"I think I never had such a good time in all my life," breathed Cordelia.
 
"I know I never did," choked Tilly. "Genevieve, we can't ever begin to thank you for it all!"
 
"I—I don't want you to," Genevieve, her eyes with her handkerchief. "I reckon you haven't had any better time than I have!"
 
Quentina was at the Bolo station; so, too, was Susie Billings.
 
"O Happy Hexagons, Happy Hexagons, I just had to come," chanted Quentina, some distance away, and extending two restraining hands, palms outward. "Don't kiss me—don't come near me! I don't think I've got any germs about me, but we want to be on the safe side."
 
"But, Quentina, how are you? How are all of you?" cried Genevieve, plainly . "I think it's just —staying off at arm's length like this!"
 
"But you must, dear," almost Quentina. "I wouldn't have you go through what we are going through with at home for anything. Such a whoop—whoop—whooping time!"
 
"Couldn't you make a poem on it?" Tilly. "I should think 'twould make a splendid subject—you could use such , words."
 
Quentina shook her head .
 
"I couldn't. I tried it once or twice; but all I could think of was 'Hark, from the tombs a doleful sound'; then somebody would cough, and I just couldn't get any further." Her voice was in spite of its drawl.
 
"You poor thing," sympathized Genevieve. "But we—we're glad to see you, even for this little, and even if we can't feel you! But, Quentina, you'll write—sure?"
 
"Yes, I'll write," nodded Quentina, backing sorrowfully away. "Good-by, Happy Hexagons, good-by!"
 
"So that is your Quentina?" said Mr. Hartley in a low voice, as the girls were waving their hands and handkerchiefs. "Well, she is pretty."
 
"Oh, but she wasn't half so pretty to-day," regretted Genevieve. "She looked so thin and tired. I wanted to introduce you, Father, but I didn't know how to—so far away."
 
"I should say not," laughed Mr. Hartley. "'Twould have been worse than your high handshake back East," he added, as he turned to speak to Susie Billings, who had come up at that moment.
 
Susie Billings was in her khaki suit and cowboy hat to-day, with the belt and holster; so, as it happened, the last glimpse the girls had of Bolo station was made by a vision of "Cordelia's cowboy" (as Tilly always called Susie) waving her broad-brimmed hat.
 
The trip to San Antonio was practically uneventful, though it was certainly one long delight to the Happy Hexagons, who never wearied of talking about the sights and sounds of the wonderful country through which they were passing.
 
"Well, this isn't much like Bolo; is it?" cried Tilly, when at last they found themselves in the handsome railroad station of the city itself. "I shouldn't think Texas would know its own self half the time—it's so different from itself all the time!"
 
"That's all right, Tilly, and I think I know what you mean," laughed Genevieve; "but I wouldn't advise you to give that sentence to Miss Hart as your best example of ."
 
"Well, I was talking about Texas," retorted Tilly, , "and there isn't anything logical about Texas, that I can see. There, now—look!" she added, as they reached the street. "Just tell me if there's anything logical in that scene!" she finished, with a wave of her hand toward the passing .
 
Genevieve laughed, but her eyes, too, widened a little as she stepped one side with the others, for a moment, to watch the curious of humanity and vehicles before them.
 
In the street a was tooting for a ramshackle prairie to turn to one side. Behind the a forlorn dragging a wagon-load of empty boxes. Behind that came an army ambulance followed by an electric truck. A handsome soldier on a bay came next, and behind him a huge touring car with a black . On either side of the touring car rode a grinning boy on a mustang, plainly to the of the pompous negro and the delight of two pretty girls in white who were ............