This done, he telephoned Miss Drew.  She was not insensible to the significance of his inquiry if she would be in that afternoon.  She had observed in him of late a condition of uneasiness, supplemented by moroseness and occasional periods of irascibility.  Every girl whose occupation in life is the study of men recognizes these symptoms and knows how to treat them.  Barbara had dealt with many men afflicted in this manner, and the flutter of anticipation that came with his urgent plea to see her was tempered by experience.  It had something of joy in it, for she cared enough for Montgomery Brewster to have made her anxiously uncertain of his state of mind.  She cared, indeed, much more than she intended to confess at the outset.

It was nearly half-past five when he came, and for once the philosophical Miss Drew felt a little irritation.  So certain was she of his object in coming that his tardiness was a trifle ruffling.  He apologized for being late, and succeeded in banishing the pique that possessed her.  It was naturally impossible for him to share all his secrets with her, that is why he did not tell her that Grant & Ripley had called him up to report the receipt of a telegram from Swearengen Jones, in which the gentleman laconically said he could feed the whole State of Montana for less than six thousand dollars.  Beyond that there was no comment.  Brewster, in dire trepidation, hastened to the office of the attorneys.  They smiled when he burst in upon them.

“Good heavens!” he exclaimed, “does the miserly old hayseed expect me to spend a million for newspapers, cigarettes and Boston terriers?  I thought he would be reasonable!”

“He evidently has seen the newspaper accounts of your dinner, and this is merely his comment,” said Mr. Ripley.

“It’s either a warning, or else he’s ambiguous in his compliments,” growled Brewster, disgustedly.

“I don’t believe he disapproved, Mr. Brewster.  In the west the old gentleman is widely known as a wit.”

“A wit, eh?  Then he’ll appreciate an answer from me.  Have you a telegraph blank, Mr. Grant?”

Two minutes later the following telegram to Swearengen Jones was awaiting the arrival of a messenger-boy, and Brewster was blandly assuring Messrs. Grant & Ripley that he did not “care a rap for the consequences”: 

New York, October 23, 1—­

Swearengen Jones,

Butte, Mont.

No doubt you could do it for less than six thousand.  Montana is regarded as the best grazing country in the world, but we don’t eat that sort of stuff in New York.  That’s why it costs more to live here.

Montgomery Brewster.

Just before leaving his apartments for Miss Drew’s home he received this response from faraway Montana: 

Butte, Montana, Oct. 23, 1—­

Montgomery Brewster, New York.

We are eight thousand feet above the level of the sea.  I suppose that’s why it costs us less to live high.